#on the other I don’t think that was NEARLY enough

[lovebugism]

miss bug I have something to ask 🙋‍♀️

i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable

thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.

The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.

“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.

The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”

“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.

“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.

“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.

“Get to work.”

Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet. 

Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.

He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”

“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”

Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”

“Sick?”

His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”

Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.

“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.

Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”

—————

Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).

Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.

He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.

“Whoa—” Steve flinches.

You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”

“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”

“I thought you were a burglar or something…”

“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.

You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”

As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.

Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”

Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall). 

“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.

“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows. 

Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.

“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.

Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”

“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.

“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”

“‘M too sick for food.”

Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”

His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.

You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.

Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”

He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”

The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.

What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.

Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.

“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.

Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.

“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you. 

He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.

[exocaliii]

❦︎ And You Look Half Dead Half The Time

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, making-out, fingering + cunnilingus (r! receiving), bathroom sex, one use of Y/N even though I tried my best to avoid it lol, extreme jealousy/possessiveness, no-eul is not playing about her girl in this one LOL

A/N: finally reached the romance stuff in this one but there's still some build-up of course, hope you all enjoy and as always, i appreciate any type of feedback or comments, they make the writing worth it!! :D this is so self indulgent omg

—

When the platform begins to spin, you feel a firm grip on your hand, looking up to find Se-mi already staring at you with a calm expression on her face.

“Stick with me.” 

You nod, and before you’re able to check on Min-su, you’re nearly thrown off your feet by the sudden stop of the surface you’re on. 

“10 players.” 

The boom of the announcer clears your senses, and as Thanos and Nam-gyu laugh and spin, you see another group of five waving their hands for more people. You shout at the loudest volume you’ve used since arriving here for them to come over, and with a tight grip on Se-mi’s hand, you drag her to the open room right across the arena. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su (who you can now see was hiding behind Se-mi) follow right along, and, thank goodness, the other team of 5 do the same. 

“Are you okay?” You don’t respond to Se-mi's question because the answer should be obvious with the way you’re trembling, but she only nods in understanding. “Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.” You want to believe her, you truly do, but you see Min-su’s fear, and in that moment, you accept that this may be the game that kills you. 

The lock clicks open.

Your group of ten steps out, stepping over the blood of those who lost the last round.

You want to retch, but you stay focused and get back on the platform. 

With your hand in Se-mi’s, you block out the happy singing of Thanos and Nam-gyu, opting instead to pat Min-su’s back when you see him basically shaking like a leaf. He jumps, but turns to you with a grateful look in his eye. You pray that he lives, because someone like him should not die in a cold place like this.

“4 players.”

Your heart drops. Thanos glances back and forth between the three of you as Nam-gyu stands at his side. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and your legs are stiff, ready to run. His eyes stop on Min-su, and you know what’s about to happen.

“You-”

“I’ll go.” 

Se-mi barely has a chance to react before you rip your hand from hers and run to find another group. Somewhere in the bustle of the crowd, you swear you hear her call your name, but you’re too locked onto three men in the distance. They’re already in the room, but they’re calling for a fourth person. Fear threatens to strangle you as you run over, the countdown playing loud in the overhead speaker. Their eyes are desperate, arms open to beckon you over to save both your life and theirs.

 

At the last second, you basically ram into one of the men as you barrel into the room, one of them slamming it shut behind you not even a second before the lock clicks. No one speaks as shots ring out from outside the room, and you begin to come to terms with your act of sacrifice for someone you had just met yesterday. 

Fuck, what were you thinking? Are you in this to win or not?

The lock clicks open, and you all step outside. There’s even more fresh blood on the ground, blood that you ignore as your eyes search the arena for your old group. 

“Y/N!”

You spin fast enough to snap your neck at the sound of her voice, and Se-mi runs over to you followed by the rest of the group. You think she’s about to hug you but she stops just short of it, arms lowering back to her side awkwardly before she resigns to grabbing you by the shoulders instead. For a second, you stare at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Oh shit, that was too cool girl.” Thano’s voice ruins the moment, but before you all begin heading back to the platform, you hear a soft voice from behind Se-mi.

“Thank you.” 

Min-su meekly looks at you with obvious guilt, and Se-mi drops her hands from your shoulders to take your hand as you all walk back towards the center. It’s comforting to have her hand in yours again (especially after you almost died letting go of it).

“It’s fine, I already saw the other group before leaving.” Obvious lie, but he didn’t need to know that. 

As you all begin to spin again, Se-mi gives your hand a short squeeze before looking down at you with a gentle smile that, as always, almost looks like a smirk.

“I was right about you.” You chuckle at this and turn away to hide your reddened face, but of course, the moment doesn’t last very long. 

“3 players.”

The three of you barely spare a glance at Thanos and Nam-gyu before you grab each other’s hands and run off, hearing the rapper scream a curse at your betrayal. You almost want to laugh, but you’re too focused on holding onto Se-mi and Min-su’s hands for dear life as you run towards one of the few open rooms still available. 

They’re filling up too quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see two other groups scrambling towards the one room you have your sights set on. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you come to the horrifying realization that groups of three might be too small to fit everyone that was still alive, even if they were all paired up. The thought makes your legs move that much faster, but just as you’re about to reach your safe haven, a body collides with yours and sends you flying towards the floor. 

10 seconds left.

“Min-su?!” He was on your left, but where is he?

7 seconds left.

“Get up, get inside the room!” Se-mi. You’re pretty sure it’s her rough hands that grab your sweater and pull you up.

5 seconds left.

“Where is he?! Min-su!” You stumble over your feet, your mind reeling as you’re bouncing back and forth between trying to find him and trying to follow Se-mi into the room.

3 seconds left.

“Wait! Wait, please help me!” He’s half on the ground, half fighting against a man trying to get up in front of him to enter a room to your right. You’re already in yours, and an arm wrapped tight around your waist prevents you from running out to save his life once again. 

1 second left.

“Let go! Min-su!” 

The buzzer sounds right as the door slams shut in your face.

The lock clicks shut.

Somewhere outside, you hear gunfire and the desperate cries of men and women who failed. 

For a second, you think you can hear him begging for his life, but then a single shot rings out and his fate is sealed.

—

Somewhere in the haze of emotions, you continue to grasp onto her arm like a lifeline. Your head rings, and you don’t even hear the announcer’s call for each of the next two rounds. It’s Se-mi who makes sure you’re right next to her the entire time, no matter which group you join or which room you scramble into. She doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay (because it is extremely obvious this time, with tear tracks on your cheeks and shallow eyes staring into the distance), but her firm hold on you still shows her underlying care. That, and the slight shake of her body reminds you that despite her previous bravado and confidence, she’s still human just like you. 

When the game ends, you step over the blood of the losers to make it back to the main room (you wonder if you had stepped on Min-su’s as well - the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach). 

Thanos greets the two of you with excitement even after you left him and Nam-gyu in the dust, but you don’t even have it in you to entertain his antics now. Your head was pounding, and the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball on the spot was Se-mi’s arm around your shoulders; she was holding onto you like you would curl up and die if she let go, which you might. 

When you both settle into her bed, you really begin to feel the weight of his absence. 

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” she says, her voice quiet as if you were a deer about to sprint away. “...You wouldn’t have made it in time-”

“I know.” You’re curt, almost rude, and you feel bad immediately for your outburst. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t her fault that your first selfless moment in this hellhole means nothing now. “I… I’m sorry. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Her hand caresses yours, soothing you into finally allowing your tense body to relax.

Something about her gentle demeanor coaxes out a more peaceful side in you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. You’re pleasantly surprised at her lack of resistance, and something in your gut burns when she leans her head right back on yours. 

For a second, you think about No-eul and feel a strange amount of guilt creeping up on you, but Se-mi changes her grip on your hand slightly to interlace your fingers and it all goes away. You owe nothing to her. Companionship isn’t something she should bar you from looking for when you face death at her hands everyday now. 

What’s so wrong with finding your own comfort in the beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly soft woman sitting next to you? 

—

350 million won. 

It’s enough for those smugglers, enough for her, and so, it’s enough for you to change your vote. 

When red LEDs light up your face and you begin exchanging your blue patch for a red one, you feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down on you. 

You chose life this time. From now on, if you die, it won’t be of your own volition anymore. This fact disturbs you greatly, so you’re quick in pushing through the crowd to get right back to Se-mi’s side. You’re glad she chose to live too. If you made it out of here, you wouldn’t want to lose contact with her. Trauma bonds are pretty strong apparently. 

—

When two groups of men start walking out of the bathrooms covered in blood and money begins to fill the pig again, you shuffle a bit closer to Se-mi, and her grip on your hand tightens. 

Supposedly it was a brawl, and from the frantic head counts of both sides, the O’s had lost one extra man. The sight of a bloody Nam-gyu shuffling onto Thano’s bed, shaking from the drugs with a frantic, bloodthirsty look in his eyes made your stomach drop. Now, there was no idiotic rapper to take hold of his leash, and you were sure he would want to kill you two after you turned your backs on him twice. 

The cold steel of the fork you took from dinner provided a comforting weight inside your pocket. 

“Se-mi.” She turns towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Sleep on this side tonight, okay?” Your grip on her arm is tight and you know you must look completely shaken by now, but she still gives her signature confident smirk.

“Sure, but you better make it worth my while.”

Your face goes red and you scoff, making her chuckle. God, you’re glad you have someone like this by your side.

—

When the screams begin, you immediately dig into your pocket and pull out your makeshift weapon. You want to call out for her, but you’re terrified that if you make a single noise, you and her will be swarmed by the wolves tearing apart the people all around you. 

Where the fuck are the guards?! No, who are you kidding, of course they would sit by and let you kill each other. Probably the highlight of their night. Under the fear, you feel so much anger and pain at the situation that you can barely focus.  

No-eul’s face flashes in your mind once again but now, you’re beginning to struggle to differentiate her from the other murderers all around you. 

No, no, no. You can’t think that way. She’s not like any of them.

“You traitor bitch!” You turn your head down to look for the familiar voice, and to your utter horror, Nam-gyu is standing right below you. Across from him (and cornered against the wall) is Se-mi. Even with the strobing lights, you can see the intense fear under her angry expression. “I’m gonna fucking gut you!”

When he charges at her, you make one of the easiest choices of your entire life and roll off the side of the bunk. 

You nearly miss your landing, but your fork doesn’t and his scream of pain reveals that instantly. You take both him and yourself to the ground, but your heart is racing and you can still feel him bucking from beneath you, so you don’t get a chance to breathe before yanking the fork out of his shoulder and slamming it back down into the side of his neck. The feeling of it sinking it and spraying your hand with hot blood is sickening beyond belief, but you block out everything except the feeling of his squirming beneath you and raise the metal above your head again. 

You aren’t sure how many times you bring it down on him, but a body colliding into yours knocks you out of your spiral.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Se-mi’s voice barely comprehends in your ears, but you can feel her arms around you clearly. “He’s dead, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Her hand rubs your back soothingly, and only then do you realize there are tears pouring down your cheeks.

Your chest heaves as you openly sob, clinging to her like a lifeline and unintentionally smearing the back of her sweater with Nam-gyu’s blood. You shut out everything but her voice, and even when the guards enter and fire into the air, you don’t find yourself flinching once, simply dropping to the floor still in her arms.

—

When some of the players gun down all the guards in the room, you hide in the corner with Se-mi (who was still whispering comforting words into your ears). You watch as players 120 and 456 take center stage in the room, shutting down the last bits of the riot and forcing the one square-mask guard onto his knees. They call for others to join them, others with military experience or even those with the faintest idea of how to use a gun. 

Of course, you had military experience right alongside No-eul, but the ache in your body and the tight grip Se-mi has on you keeps you from getting up. Your head pounds and spins as your eyes begin trailing around the slaughterhouse of a room. 

Dead people in green, dead people in pink. Your eyes linger on the guards and their triangle-masks, immediately recalling the shape No-eul had on hers. 

What if…

No.

The moment the team of rebels leaves, you go to get up but a tight grip on your forearm drags you right back down. 

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Her eyes are confused but her voice is just as gentle as it’s been the entire time she sat there combing her fingers through your hair and whispering about how brave you were and how thankful she was. “Talk to me please, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to check something, that’s all.” She doesn’t look satisfied, but Se-mi lets you get up after you give her a brisk hug and a strained smile. 

With a shaky breath, you begin to make your rounds. You can feel the eyes on you as you walk up the first guard and pull off their mask, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of familiarity in their dead eyes. 

With each one, you grow more and more tense, steeling yourself for the possibility of seeing No-eul’s empty, dead eyes staring back at you. 

It would be the thing that kills you. The loss of your reason to fight in the first place. 

Kneeling down next to the final guard, you can barely breathe as your fingers brush against the edge of their mask. Your hands are shaking so bad and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of strength. You would die if it was her. You would pull that fork out of Nam-gyu’s neck and jam it in your own if it was her. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you tug it off and let it clatter to the side. Your breathing slows when you peek and immediately recognize the face as belonging to a younger man’s, not your No-eul. 

Please God, give me this one thing and let her live. Let us leave with my blood money and never come back.

—

You can’t even feel joy or disappointment when the rebellion inevitably ends in a whimper. 

456 is dragged in and from a quick glance around the room, you see that 001 and 390 are missing as well. 120 and 388 sit dejectedly not too far away from you, and you can’t help but feel for them; they were people, far stronger than you, that failed to be the heroes. You can’t judge them, you never even considered fighting alongside these brave people in the first place. 

Now that everything has calmed down again and lights-out happens like every other night and not the bloodbath that ensued earlier, you’re far more aware of the sticky feeling of blood on your skin. Your sweater even feels slightly heavier, the entire front of it stained with deep red fluid.

“I-I need to wash this off.” Se-mi, who was almost drifting off next to you, shoots awake and gets up right behind you.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s an unspoken fact that she definitely would, but you’re still happy at the confirmation. 

In the haze of everything that’s occurred, you completely forget that No-eul has been the only reason you’ve been able to get into the bathroom these days, and the only reason she lets you in is because you’re you. So, when you call out and the door opens as usual, you’re confused at her stiff posture. However, after a weird awkward silence, she steps aside to let both you and Se-mi in, almost slamming the door behind you two. 

—

No-eul’s eyes trail you two as you enter the bathroom together, and she can barely control herself from charging in there and kicking 380 out altogether; she had warned you about people like her, so what were you still doing clinging to her side like that? Moreover, seeing the blood practically covering your entire front was like a gut punch. 

She should’ve been there. She should’ve blown the heads off of whoever did that to you. She’s been careless, and she understands that now.

The worst she felt was during the Mingle game. Each time she had been sent in, her breath would hitch and she would hesitate for a few seconds at the entrance, eyes scanning the wide open area for any signs of you. Every single time she failed to spot the number 037 on the clothes of those she shot, a weight would be lifted off of her shoulders. 

After the final round, the room doors had opened just before she was able to leave through the soldier’s door. She takes the chance to search for your kind face, and instead is faced with the sight of you practically hanging off of 380, a lost, soulless look in your eyes. Pain for your sadness mixes with some other ugly emotion, and for a second, she lets herself imagine how your expression would change if she sent a bullet through 380’s heart. 

Would you cry out for that woman, or would you call No-eul’s name out of instinct, like a lost animal begging for comfort?

In the end, she simply leaves with her fellow soldiers, silently cursing herself for such a violent thought. 

—

As you scrub the blood off your face, neck, and hands, you do your best to not let your gaze drift back over to Se-mi. She finishes cleaning up long before you, and you can feel her eyes on you as you scrub away. But no matter how hard you seem to scratch at your hands, the faint red tint just won’t come out. Your breathing grows heavy, and you begin to rub at it harder with the soap. 

Your hands are still red.

The blood from his neck covers your hands, the sounds, the sounds-

“That’s good enough,” a soft voice sounds from beside you, gently taking your hands in hers as you shake.

“No, no, there’s still blood, I-, there’s still…” You turn your hands this way and that, examining them and the red tint you can’t seem to get rid of.

“It’s not blood, you’ve just been rubbing too hard…” She shushes you gently and her thumbs begin tracing circles on your raw palms. “I’m sorry you had to do that, I really am.”

You can only shake your head and press your face in the crook of her neck. It’s a familiar position, one you were in only last night but with a completely different woman. She’s just as soft as No-eul, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around your body and pull you close. Instead, her fingers find the zipper of your bloodied sweater and gently begin to pull it down. The motion makes you back away a little, and she lets your sweater fall to the ground after tugging it off you. 

It’s freeing without the weight of all that blood on you, and your heart swells when she takes off her own jacket to put it on you. This is the kind of care you rarely find yourself receiving, and whenever you did, it was usually by the hand of only one other person. You would have never expected the cocky, confident girl you met two days ago would become this important to you. 

You were right about her. Se-mi was the ever genuine, ever caring woman you hoped she was after your first real conversation together, and you wonder if the world finally decided to go easy on you for once by sending you a beacon of strength in the middle of this hellhole. 

“Thank you, Se-mi,” you breathe out, the feeling of her fingertips grazing the skin of your arms still present long after her hands have dropped back to her side.

She doesn’t respond. Her gaze is still heavy on you, but this time, you hold eye contact and let yourself drown in her eyes. For a split second, you’re sure you see them dart down to your lips, and you think she might just eat you alive with the way she’s examining you.

In an act that surprises even yourself, it’s you who leans forward and presses your lips against hers. Cliche fireworks don’t go off, but the second she reciprocates by grabbing the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, you feel the tension between you two finally reach a high point, and it’s euphoric.

You hold each other with pure, unadulterated desire as one of her hands travel down to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepens and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think of No-eul. She was right outside that door, what if you were caught?

What the hell are you thinking about right now?

“You’re beautiful, so perfect,” she whispers, and her words make your heart beat that much faster. “My brave girl.” Se-mi breaks the kiss to press her lips against your neck now instead, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. She’s still holding onto you like her life depends on it. 

Unfortunately, your mind is still whirling and you have to remind yourself once again that you owe No-eul absolutely nothing. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t be angry over you finding someone to love, who loved you in a place like this. Is it wrong to search for comfort when you’re so sure you might die tomorrow? Especially from someone like Se-mi, who has done nothing but protect you and care for you.

Your hands tangle in her hair as she slides a hand beneath your shirt-

“Player 380.”

You spin around as the door slams open, a gruff voice making you jump apart from Se-mi. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you do, especially when you can feel No-eul’s eyes trailing up and down your disheveled form, and you know she knows exactly what happened here.

“Get back to the room.” You look down to see her revolver gripped tightly in her hand, as if she’s fighting the urge to lift it.

“Just give us a couple more-”

“Now.” She practically growls out that last word, and you can hear a click in the silent bathroom as she loads her revolver at her side. 

Se-mi is brave, but she’s still smart enough to realize that she’s being threatened and would not win a fight against the taller woman with a loaded gun. WIth her head held high, she takes your hand and begins walking around the guard, but No-eul steps in her way and shakes her head.

“037 stays.” You all pause, and Se-mi grips your hand tighter.

“What? What the fuck are you on about? Just let us go back to the room-”

“She stays. Now get out before I make you.” No-eul takes a step forward, hand raising to point the barrel of the gun in Se-mi’s face. 

It’s difficult to hold herself back when she’s this close to doing what she wants with this random woman who’s begun impeaching on her world. The barrier holding you and No-eul together, apart from everyone else, has been disrupted, and she begins to wonder if you’ll actually hate her if she pulls the trigger now. She wants to, especially hearing you fucking moan for this woman.

Where else has she touched you? 

Her trigger finger twitches. 

“It’s okay, Se-mi,” you whisper, breaking your gaze from No-eul to look over at her. 

First name basis? You really want her to kill this woman.

“Just go, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Se-mi looks at you, confusion apparent in her features, but your face is perfectly calm and even though that disturbs her a little, she accepts it. She’ll trust you to stay alive with this psycho.

“Okay, just call out for me if you need anything.” No-eul scoffs at this, earning a glare from Se-mi before she walks out the bathroom. She spares you one final glance over her shoulder, and with a nod from you, she exits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” You’re practically burning with anger at her behavior, but No-eul ignores your outburst and walks over to the door, turning the latch to lock it before turning back around to look at you. “You think ‘cause you have that mask on you can just go around pointing your gun at everyone?!”

“And what the hell were you doing?” She pulls her mask off, throwing it to the floor before pulling down her face covering. Now, you can actually see the anger simmering beneath her eyes, an accusatory look on her face as she steps closer. “Were you planning on having sex with her or something? This stranger you just met?”

Your face begins to burn for a different reason now.

“That’s… that’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman, I can decide what I want to do or not do.” Your voice is far too unsure and she laughs sarcastically. Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she approaches to stand right in front of you. Your breathing slows as her eyes trail down your face, locking onto the number 380 right above your heart. Her lips curl into a frown and she grabs Se-mi’s sweater, looking like she wanted to burn a hole through the number on your chest. 

To her, it’s a reminder of her failure to protect you as she swore she always would, and now, in the wake of this failure, another person has come along and threatened to take her place - a place in your life she would kill anyone to keep. 

“Take this off,” she breathes out. The air is tense, and you almost want to deny her just to see what she would do, but fuck, she almost looks genuinely hurt and you can’t say no now. 

With your eyes still locked onto hers, you slowly pull the sweater off and let it drop to the ground at your feet. Her eyes are still pinned to your chest, but now you’re so close that you can feel her soft breathing on your face. You swallow harshly and press your face against her shoulder, bunching up her pink tracksuit in your hands as you pull her closer. The feeling of her so close again kills all the tension in your shoulders. This is the safest you’ve felt in 24 hours, and it’s in the arms of a woman who’s been killing people like you the entire time. 

You’re almost a bit ashamed, but what’s wrong with being a bit selfish for once?

You’re shaking in her arms when she pulls back slightly to cup your wet cheeks in her hands. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying again, but now, she’s looking down at your glassy eyes and swollen lips with so much intensity that you forget why you were crying in the first place. Her thumb swipes a tear off your cheek before she leans down, lips brushing against yours. 

“My beautiful girl.”

Finally, nine years after the day you met, she presses her lips against yours and claims you as hers. Faintly, you feel your back collide with the wall behind you as her tongue slips in your mouth. You’re holding onto her suit for dear life as she practically devours you, and you wonder how you were ever angry at this woman. It’s far more intense than the softness you experienced earlier with Se-mi, and you’re beginning to feel the effects of being pent up for so long. 

It’s not like you’ve never had sex with her before (to be fair, it’s only happened once), but this was far too emotional to be compared to the drunken haze you were both in when she fucked you over the seat of her van. There were no kisses shared then, no gentle caress of your face before she took you for herself. 

You’re dragged from your own thoughts when you feel a hand slide under your shirt and bra, gasping into her mouth as a cold hand cups your breast, roughly pinching your nipple between two fingers. You whimper right into her ear as her lips move down to your neck, sucking and biting as you openly pant. She’s practically surrounded you by now, but it’s not enough. 

With trembling hands, you grab the zipper of her pink suit and yank it down to reveal her slender body underneath. Your fingers scratch down her toned torso and you drink in the wonderful groan that leaves her mouth. As you’re preoccupied, she tugs on the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down right along with your panties in one pull. 

Faintly, as her hands grip the plush of your thighs, you try to determine if you’ve ever felt such strong feelings of desire, of love, of anything with anybody. 

No, you’re sure you’ve felt this before. 

Your eyes shoot open as she calls your name. Somewhere in the haze, No-eul has dropped to her knees in front of you, and now, she’s looking at you like you hold the world in your hands.

“Do you still love me?” A pause, and her fingers press harder into your thigh, cold leather gloves long forgotten on the floor. “Can you still accept me?”

Every moment that you remember being so close to that overwhelming emotion, No-eul is right there next to you. 

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

A tear falls from her pained eyes, but you aren’t given the opportunity to wipe it away before she leans forward and presses her open mouth against your core. A gasp leaves your mouth and you immediately tangle your fingers in her short hair. It’s a bit too much to take in all at once - the woman you’ve loved for years is fucking you, and this time, you think she might actually love you back.

No, who are you kidding, you know she loves you. Maybe not as much as you love her, but she has to love you if she’s on her knees like this for you.

With the comfort of this knowledge, you lean your head back and lose yourself in the feeling of her tongue deep inside you, strong hands holding you still against the wall even if your legs feel like giving out. As your moans and pants fill the room, you beg internally that Se-mi isn’t waiting right outside the door to walk you back (or at least let the sound-proofing be decent). 

Unsurprisingly, after a couple years without any genuine intimacy with anyone (you couldn’t bear to let anyone fuck you after No-eul did), you reach your peak quickly. It doesn’t feel like some triumphant moment; your legs shake as the tight coil in your stomach unwinds and it’s satisfying to some extent, but you can’t stop the sudden rush of tears that follow. 

Why did your acceptance of your feelings for her have to come in a place like this - covered in the blood of someone you killed with your own two hands? 

Your legs finally give out in your grief, but she’s quick to catch you, leaning back to properly sit down on the floor as she carefully guides you onto her lap. For a moment, you just tuck your head in her neck and cry as a hand gently rubs your back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” No-eul whispers, caught up in her own guilt for leading you down the same hateful path she accepted long ago. Why did you have to love her? Why did you have to follow her road towards self-destruction, the one she vowed to shield you from?

You want to tell her that she has nothing to be sorry about because you chose all of this on your own, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re worried that if you open your mouth now, all you’ll do is start spouting nonsense about how much you love her and how much of your humanity you would forsake to protect her dream. 

Instead of further exposing yourself, you gently take the hand she’s kept on your waist and guide it down lower once again. To her credit, she understands right away and you’re given no time to prepare for the two long, slender fingers she pushes inside you. The sound of your sharp inhale right next to her ear must’ve been enough confirmation that you were okay, because she immediately starts moving them up and down inside you, rubbing gently against your still sensitive walls. 

Your hands wrap around her back and grip her shoulders as your hips begin to move in tandem with her hands, your heavy breathing a stark contrast against her soft one. The hand she had on your back is still there, soothing you until your tears turn from ones of sadness to ones of pleasure. 

As the high you’re chasing starts to get closer, you tear your nails down her back. Even though she’s still the same person as she was minutes ago, something feels different this time.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

“I won’t, I swear.” The hand on your back flies down to grip your hips to hold you steady as your movements grow more frantic. “I’ll never let you go, not for anything.”

You almost fall forward when she suddenly leans back, but you catch yourself on her shoulders once again. This time, she looks you square in the eyes as she pushes you over the edge, her gaze filled with an emotion you know too well.

“I love you,” she breathes out, and this is all you need to fall apart in her hands. “I’m in love with you, I can’t let you go, I won’t.”

In the afterglow of the moment, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you right up against her body.

“Even if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll continue holding onto you for the rest of my life.”

You smile at her words. You feel more content than you ever have before.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die in this place now.

—

A/N: my bad min-su fans and nam-guy fans, its for the plot y'all😭😭also if im being completely honest, I started writing writing this longass story just for smut with no-eul but it got so unexpectedly deep cuz I couldn't handle writing it with no build-up or emotional tension or ANYTHING

hope y'all enjoyed and LOL to the fellow FREAKS out there I hope the smut was alright cuz that was the most difficult part for me... LMK WHAT U THINK!! pt. 3 is coming in SEVEN MONTHS LMFAO😭😭😭SEASON 3 SAVE ME... SAVE ME SEASON 3

also if u request feel free to add details and stuff I might be able to build it into a longass story like this (but WOW this took too long) also I LOVE TO WRITE SAD SHT!!! SEND ME SAD SHT ILL LOVE IT!!

Taglist: @asvterias

[crushpunky]

actress!reader attends the golden globes (with a special accessory)

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off of this ask + tom/zendaya’s engagement :)

With a final deep breath, y/n stepped out onto the red carpet of the Golden Globes. Bulbs flashed and fans screamed as she walked out, grinning and waving to onlookers, her golden gown popping against the floral backdrop. It wasn’t her first time attending, however, it was her first time attending an event with a certain accessory donning her finger… her ring finger.

Y/n posed, flaunting her perfectly practiced smile along with a toss of her hair before resting her hands on the front of her gown. Her fingers splayed out, flashing the glittering diamond Drew had given her nearly a month ago. Initially she’d been hesitant to wear it on the carpet, unsure if she should come out so soon with it or without Drew, who was unable to attend due to prior scheduling obligations. As she floated along the red carpet, she could hear litters of whispers and pointing from fans, which caused a mischievous smirk to spread across her perfectly lined lips.

“Y/n, looking stunning today!” An interviewer waved her over, an excited grin on their face. 

“Thank you so much! You’re looking beautiful as well.” Y/n smiled.

“So, would you mind giving us some more info about your outfit? It’s absolutely gorgeous!” The interviewer said, gesturing to her dress and array of diamond accessories.

“Thank you, thank you.” Y/n chuckled, smoothing down the front of her satin gown. “Well, it is the Golden Globes, so why not gold, right? But in all seriousness, my stylists did an amazing job and I cannot thank them enough for all their help.”

“Of course, nothing but love for all the stylists tonight.” The interviewer laughed. “Y/n, I do have to ask you a question because everyone has been talking about it since you stepped out here on the carpet today.”

“Oh no, now I’m scared.” Y/n bit her bottom lip, already having an idea of what the question might be.

“Your ring… is this an announcement?” The interviewer asked with a quirk of her brow. Y/n laughed, subtly looking down at the large ring on her finger.

“Hmm, I guess I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Y/n shrugged, a cheeky grin on her face.

“Are you and Drew engaged?” The interviewer asked, gesturing to y/n’s ring.

“That’s a good question.” Y/n said simply, a wide smile remaining on her face as she stood in silence for a moment, the interviewer waiting for an answer before the two of them started to laugh.

“Oh, I think my publicist is calling me!” Y/n said, pointing back towards the entrance to the venue, her publicist nowhere to be seen. “It was great to chat, have a good night!”

The show went on smoothly, y/n watching each of the segments from her seat, mindful of the various phones she saw focused in her direction each commercial break. Her table was filled with fellow actors, including Drew’s nominated “Queer” castmates she’d gotten quite familiar with during her multiple visits to the set.

“Y/n, oh my goodness!” A voice greeted her as they cut for commercial. Y/n turned to see Ayo Edebiri waving excitedly, her usual wide smile on her face. The two of them had met at multiple Loewe events in the past, usually spending the entire event laughing and chatting.

“Oh my goodness, hello!” Y/n smiled, the two of them hugging briefly before pulling away to admire each other's outfits. Ayo wore an oversized, gray Loewe suit paired with a golden tie, an homage to Julia Roberts iconic look.

“It’s so good to see you, you look so good, girl.” Ayo said, gesturing to y/n’s gown before her eyes caught onto y/n’s glittering ring. Ayo quickly grabbed her hand, examining y/n’s finger with a quirk of her brow. Y/n said nothing, giggling at Ayo’s expression.

“Y/n…” Ayo sang quietly, an excited smile spreading across her face as y/n nodded in silent confirmation. With a squeal, Ayo pulled her into a tight hug, the two of them laughing.

“Oh my goodness, congrats!” Ayo whispered before pulling away, the lights flashing to signal the end of the commercial break.

“Thank you, it was so good to see you!” Y/n said, waving to her before finding her way back to her seat, the show continuing. Little did she know, her and Ayo’s interaction, including their admiration of her ring and their excited squeals, was caught on camera by an especially observant attendee. Like a wildfire, the video spread across the internet, only further fanning the flames of the engagement rumors.

It wasn’t until she got home to Drew, the two of them giggling as they scrolled through the internet’s reaction, did they finally decide to respond to the rumors…

tag: @anothertimegirl

[nanamincreampie]

Omgomgomg hiiiii 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🌷🌷🌷🌷 can I request an instance where Sukuna’s pregnant wife visits him at his job and he’s the CEO.

Context:

So like no one in the office knows what his wife looks like. He’s insanely private about his life. (Also cause he’s involved in shady stuff and doesn’t want anyone to know the identity of his wife. He meets with a lot of crooked business men on and off the clock.)

But yea the office only know he’s married because of the ring he wears.

So when his gorgeous, thick and very pregnant wife goes to the reception saying “Hi, is Ryomen busy? I’m his wife. I brought muffins for everyone I ate a couple I hope that’s okay.” in the sweetest voice with the biggest smile, the entire floor is in shock. (They know she’s not lying because of the ginormous light pink rock of a wedding ring that’s on her finger. It’s identical to his hair obvi hehe)

But like yeah! She comes to the office for the first time and all the workers just fall in love with how sweet she is. So they scramble to help her and hold her bag and offer her food from the break room and tell her how pretty she is and maybe Sukuna’s personal assistant even gets pulled away and that’s when he notices that everybody’s nearly gone and he finally finds her surrounded by everyone in the break room and maybe he takes her to his office and his mind is reeling thinking something’s wrong with the baby but it just ended up her being like “I’m sorry I know I could have called but look! The baby’s kicking!” And he falls in love with her all over again.

I think it’d be so cute 😭🩷 he seems like the type of hubby to call his wife “flower” or “petal”. Smut is totally up to you I won’t be opposed to it. But eeee!!! I thought it’d be a cute fluffy little fic

One Sukuna fic with a side of Sunshine and a Pregnant Wife coming right up!!! <3

Sukuna x Black pregnant reader

The bustling office of Sukuna Enterprises was alive with its usual energy phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and hushed conversations about deadlines. Ryomen Sukuna, the enigmatic and ruthlessly efficient CEO, was in the middle of one of his intense back-to-back meetings. His presence cast a long shadow over the entire floor. Everyone knew to tread carefully; Sukuna tolerated no mistakes.

The only personal detail anyone knew about him was that he was married, courtesy of the massive, rose-pink diamond ring he wore on his left hand. But beyond that? Nothing. Sukuna was intensely private, and no one had dared to ask for more. Speculation abounded, but without any concrete details, his wife remained a mystery.

Until today.

The receptionist was the first to spot her: a stunning woman in a flowing maternity dress that hugged her very pregnant belly. Her curls framed her glowing face, and she carried a basket of muffins in one hand and a slightly overstuffed purse in the other.

“Hi there!” she greeted with a bright smile, her voice warm and melodic. “Is Mr. Sukuna in? I’d like to see him, please.”

The receptionist blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual tone. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her professional instincts kicking in.

“Oh, no, no appointment,” the woman replied with a light laugh. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The receptionist hesitated. No one—no one—saw Sukuna without an appointment. “And you are?”

“Oh, just a friend,” the woman said coyly, her warm smile never faltering. “I brought muffins for everyone, too! I… might have eaten a couple on the way. They smelled so good.”

Her charm was effortless, but the receptionist wasn’t entirely convinced. As she considered what to do, a curious junior associate walked past and froze at the sight of the woman. His gaze flicked between her and the receptionist.

“Who’s she?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist whispered back.

Within minutes, whispers began to spread. A stunning, heavily pregnant woman had walked into Sukuna Enterprises asking for their untouchable boss. No one knew who she was, but the expensive jewelry on her hand, especially the light pink diamond, caught more than a few eyes. The resemblance to Sukuna’s wedding ring sparked theories.

Could it be… her?

The whispers grew louder as more employees found excuses to pass by the reception area, stealing glances at the mysterious woman.

Despite the growing attention, she remained perfectly at ease. When someone offered to carry her purse, she laughed softly and accepted, the basket of muffins still in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you so much! It’s a bit heavier than I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with gratitude.

Soon, the break room became her destination. Chairs were pulled out for her, snacks and drinks were offered, and she was surrounded by employees eager to accommodate her. Her gentle laughter filled the space as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their kindness and answering their curious but polite questions in a way that revealed little.

Meanwhile, in his corner office, Sukuna noticed something strange. The usual buzz of activity on the floor had dwindled to near silence. His crimson eyes narrowed. Something was off.

Stepping out of his office, Sukuna’s gaze swept over the nearly deserted floor. His jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered under his breath, following the faint sound of laughter.

When he reached the break room, the scene before him made his steps falter.

Her.

His wife.

The woman no one in his office had ever seen, the woman he kept carefully hidden from the chaos of his professional life, sat there, glowing with happiness, her round belly resting comfortably as she laughed with his staff.

“What is going on here?” Sukuna’s deep, commanding voice sliced through the air.

The room went silent instantly. Employees scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale as they realized they’d been caught slacking.

Her head turned, and her smile brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she said warmly, completely unfazed by his intimidating presence. She gestured for him to come closer. “Come here!”

He crossed the room in two long strides, his crimson eyes scanning her from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter but edged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression softened as she reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. “Nope! I just missed you. And look the baby’s kicking!”

For a moment, Sukuna’s icy demeanor cracked. His sharp features softened as he felt the gentle thump beneath his palm.

“You could’ve called, Petal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something uncharacteristically tender.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but then his sharp gaze flicked to the stunned employees still lingering near the door. “Get back to work. Now.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, murmuring apologies as they fled the room.

Turning back to his wife, Sukuna wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her toward his office. Once inside, he helped her settle onto the plush couch, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re going to cause chaos every time you visit, Flower,” he said, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But I brought muffins to make up for it.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he sat beside her. Despite the whirlwind she’d caused, Sukuna found himself staring at her, utterly captivated. She always had a way of turning his world upside down in the best possible way.

And the chaos? Oh, it didn’t end there.

For the rest of the week, the entire office buzzed with stories about her surprise visit. Who could’ve imagined that the stoic, intimidating Ryomen Sukuna was married to such a sweet, cheerful woman? The way she smiled, the way she treated everyone with kindness, the way she looked the staff couldn’t stop talking about her.

Rumors swirled, theories were formed, and every detail was analyzed. But one thing was certain: Mrs. Sukuna had left an impression that no one would forget anytime soon.

Divider by : @bernardsbendystraws

[swappermanent]

Freckles (Part 3 - Grandpa's POV)

Life has changed a lot for me in the past nine months. You don’t realize just how much you miss about being young until you’ve got it back. I thought I had a good handle on things, swapping into Dylan every summer like clockwork. A week here, a week there—it was enough to scratch the itch, to remind me of what it felt like to have a strong back, quick reflexes, and boundless energy. But let me tell you, living in a young body for this long? It’s different. Night and day.

Kai—no, Theo now—was right. I’ll admit it. I was reluctant when he first said it to me, standing there in that smug stance of his, shirtless as always, grinning like he had the world figured out. “You clearly get a kick out of being in Dylan’s body,” he said, his tone dripping with knowing amusement. And damn if he didn’t have a point.

I hesitated back then, but looking at me now? I owe Theo a massive thank-you. Staying in Dylan’s body for longer than a week was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. For one thing, there’s a kind of freedom that comes with being young and I’ve been taking full advantage of it.

I live in Berlin now. Thanks to my little caveat—"Feel free to alter your body in any way you see fit during the year"—it was totally in bounds to do something like this. A new life, a fresh start. Berlin seemed like the obvious choice. The city practically begs you to reinvent yourself, to explore every side of who you are, no matter how deeply it’s been buried.

The real Dylan wasn’t thrilled about the move, but what could he do? We all already had Irish passports anyway, so it wasn’t like there were any logistical hurdles. He’ll get over it, I’m sure. Honestly, though, I think he’s secretly jealous.

Besides, this is the perfect place to explore my sexuality. Everyone here is so open—no judgment, no shame. I’ve had sex in all the clubs, even in the middle of Tempelhof Feld. Men, women—it doesn’t matter. And let me tell you, everyone wants my hog and body, which is in peak form.

But the best night I’ve had was one where I wasn’t taking the active role in the encounter.. I’d been getting into leather lately, exploring the scene and one night, I found myself at a warehouse party. Dim red lights, pounding music, the smell of sweat and leather mingling in the air. I was dressed for the occasion—harness, boots, nothing else.

That’s where I met them. A Swedish guy, tall and broad-shouldered, with blond hair and piercing eyes that pinned me in place. And a Bulgarian guy, muscular, his dark eyes smoldering with a confidence that left no room for argument. They didn’t ask; they just knew I would take it.

And I did.

They worked together like a symphony, positioning me between them with practiced ease. The Bulgarian was the first to push inside, his cock thick and unrelenting. I gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he filled me, stretching me in a way that felt like too much and just enough all at once. And then, the Swedish guy. His cock pressed against me, slick and insistent, until he slid in beside the first, my body opening up to take them both.

I’d never felt anything like it—the fullness, the weight of them moving in tandem, their rhythm so perfectly in sync it felt orchestrated. One of them reached around to stroke my cock, his grip firm and knowing, while the other’s hand moved to my chest, teasing my nipples until I was trembling. The pleasure was overwhelming, building in waves that crashed over me again and again, each one higher than the last.

When I finally came, it was like the entire world blurred out of existence. My cock pulsed in the Swedish guy’s hand, the orgasm tearing through me with a force that left me breathless. My legs nearly gave out, but they held me steady, their movements never faltering as they milked every last drop of pleasure from my body. By the time they finished, I was spent, my skin slick with sweat, my heart pounding like I’d run a marathon.

That night changed something in me. It wasn’t just the sex—it was the surrender, the freedom of letting go completely. Afterward, they helped me clean up, their touches surprisingly gentle, and we shared drinks at the bar, laughing and swapping stories like old friends.

And now? Well I think I’m officially a Berliner.

[rainytrashh]

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First Time

Fic type-> NSFW + request

Tags-> Sub/ bottom Jayce, Jayce’s first time bottoming, no protection/ cumming inside, so amab reader.

Word count-> 1560, just about a short story

AN-> I can’t find a way to reply to the initial req so I hope you find this anon, also it was a nightmare trying to publish this but I’m glad I got it done in a timely manner.

Masterlist | AO3

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“This ok?”

“Yes just, feels… different.”

You’re careful to ease your finger inside of him, for the first time that is. You’d both decided to ‘switch it up’ given Jayce is usually the one fucking you- not that it became boring or anything no way, (the rumours going around Piltover were in fact true) it’s just you’d been together long enough to start experimenting a little. And this seemed like a solid first step into unknown territory, at least for Jayce.

“That’s it.”

You mumble, leaning in to place gentle kisses against his jaw, trailing down to his neck and collarbones as you eventually reach your knuckle. You begin ever so slowly pulling it back out again when you feel his hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, wait just…”

“Yea?”

Stopping your movements you look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. He looks unsteady, sending a pang of worry through you.

“We don’t have to do this…?”

His mouth hangs open a second or two before answering.

“No I do want to, I do, and I don’t think you can be any gentler… but it’s all new and- and weird and…”

“Different?”

His lips form a small smile, you breathe a subtle sigh of relief at his reassurance.

“Yes, so let’s just, go slow.”

You take out your finger and grab the bottle of lube from beside you once more.

“Ok, do you want to adjust or anything? Then we’ll try again.”

He reaches behind him and takes one of the pillows he was laying his head on.

“Put this under me, I feel too sat-up.”

And that you do, you may feel a little further away from his face than before but that should change soon.

“Let’s try more lube this time, see if that helps.”

You squirt some on the same finger as before, getting some on the one next to it, and place one of his legs over the top of yours for a better angle.

Your eyes meet in a silent agreement before you look back down to the task at hand, placing one of your own on his waist.

The finger enters him once more, able to make it to the knuckle fairly quickly this time.

You steadily insert the second, making Jayce groan quietly at the stretch. You begin moving your fingers in, out and around without prodding too much just to get him used to the feeling. He takes a gasp of air when you brush over his prostate.

“Is-“

“Just keep going.”

It’s not like Jayce to interrupt. Glancing up you notice him staring at the ceiling, a faint flush on his cheeks. Deeming him a bit more than okay, you continue.

“Alright.”

You find the spot once more, curling your fingers and putting some pressure against it. Jayce only lets out a breathy moan and lets his eyes fall closed briefly.

“Yea that’s… that’s good.”

You smirk at his reaction.

“Hm, that’s an improvement.”

You continue like this for around a minute more, making double sure he’ll be ready for the real thing. You probably would’ve gone on for longer if he hadn’t started to get impatient.

“I’m ready, it’s fine now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, trust me.”

You take your fingers out and put some of the remaining lube on them on your ever-hardening dick. You grab the bottle and put some more on just to be safe.

“Just, c’mere, please.”

You shuffle closer to him on the bed, he puts his other leg on top your thigh without you having to ask him too. You bite your lip as you line yourself up, then slowly start pushing yourself in.

Jayce’s thighs flex as he tenses up.

“Just relax for me, nearly there…”

You think it good to start stroking him to distract from the foreign feeling. He sighs as you feel his body relax a little, you hook your other hand around one of his thighs near to his hips. Your bodies get pressed flush together as you enter him to the hilt.

“Ooookaaayyy…”

A breathy whisper from Jayce as he adjusts to the fullness inside of him. His hands land on you anywhere they can reach for support (and probably not knowing what to do with them otherwise). Needing some stimulation yourself, you roll your hips into him and lean down to kiss him too to distract from the movement. You both groan into the other’s mouth at all the new sensations.

Kissing down his jaw again he lets his head fall back and you feel his gentle pants against your ear.

“You feel so good Jayce, so tight.”

“M-more… please…”

He sounds hesitant, but equally as desperate. A tone you can’t resist.

You let your own need slip through the reigns as you start pulling your hips back more and more with each thrust. Jayce’s hands reach up your chest, one going up to squeeze your shoulder. He can barely contain his own noises as you find a steady but still gentle rhythm to fuck him to, now abandoning his dick in favour of holding his hips instead.

“C’mon, shit, you can do more.”

“We said we’d take it slow-“

“Fuck that…”, he looks up at you with those eyes you know all too well. His eyebrows furrowed but his eyes still wide- pupils blown,

“… so fuck me.”

You sigh and hoist one of his legs up so his calf rests on your shoulder. Your thrusts pick up again- only faster this time. He throws his head back as you make his body shift with them. An audible slapping sound echoes from your hips against his ass.

“Fuck!”

A light sheen begins to form on both of you, his dick now leaking against his navel- hard and twitching.

“God Jayce… doing so good f’me.”

You take hold of his cock in one hand and begin stroking in time with your thrusts, the other is placed next to his head to prop yourself up some more. This pushes him deeper into some sort of half-folded-missionary position. He moans as he looks down at the sight of himself getting fucked like this.

He throws his head back again to look up at you.

“Harder, please harder, I can take it, make me take it.”

You wouldn’t be surprised his he was rambling at this point and he already looks thoroughly fucked-out, so there’s not a chance you’re slowing down now.

“Fuckin’ hell, didn’t know you’d be so desperate for it.”

You let your head hang as you let go of his cock and opt for pulling his hips towards you more, dragging him down the pillows.

“Didn’t know it’d, it’d be so good- right there, please.”

Try to keep drilling into the same spot, fatigue starting to get the better of you with the pace Jayce has set.

“Always a… piece of work with you huh?”

Heavy breaths intertwine between you as you let your head fall just above Jayce’s shoulder, almost rutting into him like an animal. His moans and whines fuelling you now that you feel your legs start to shake-

“Harder.”

“No-“

“Why-“

“Need to cum, gotta pull out.”

“Inside...”

You groan into his shoulder as you feel his arms grip your back, nails digging into your flesh.

“Jayce… fuuuuck.”

The leg not pressed into his chest wraps around your waist, urging you not to move another inch. You come to a still as he presses you against him as best he can with his leg between the two of you, you can’t help but cum inside of him. He reaches down to touch himself as he arches his back into you, high-pitched whimpers being let out into your neck.

“Jayce-“

You feel his cum paint your stomachs as his walls spasm around your spent cock.

Both in a post-orgasm haze, you release your tight grip on the other. Just settling for a few seconds of being near each other before you start to get too warm against Jayce’s burning skin.

“We have to do that more often.”

“Come on, clean-up’s gonna be harder now that I came inside you.”

“It was better than I had thought it was going to be.”

You scoff and smile at his comment.

“I’m not one to over-hype things Jayce.”

— – - – — – - – —

A while later you two dry off after a shared shower, clean sheets on the bed. (courtesy of you, and only you).

“So, outta ten?”

Jayce tries to turn to look at you- already comfortable in bed- as he pulls on his sweat pants, stumbling a bit in his hunched flamingo-like position.

“Er, is that how we’re ranking sex now?”

“I don’t know, I just wanna know how it was. Thoughts, feelings, whatever.”

He doesn’t bother trying the strings at the front as he lays himself down across your legs.

“I told you already.”

“No I mean like, what happened to taking it slow you know?”

You smile knowingly at him, reading him like a book as he fidgets a bit.

“It was… really really good.”

“Aw, just good?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, before you wave a dismissive hand in his general direction.

“I get it, I get it.”

You both lay quietly for a few moments, both just taking in each other’s presence.

“Didn’t know you’d be a cumslut though-“

“O-kay, that’s enough talking for today.”

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

[amorchai]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 337 notes.

pairing(s): steve harrington x reader

words: 543

warnings/tags: established relationship, mentions of food.

“stevie can you pass me the carrots please?” you ask steve, moving one hand to the head that sits against your shoulder, caressing the long strands of hair as steve grunts in reply. his grip tightens around your waist, pulling your back impossibly closer to his chest and leaving pecks across the side of your neck.

“stevie,” you say his name again and he inhales deeply, as if building himself up before sighing deeply, “do we really need carrots, baby?” steve asks. you giggle, pushing your frame back so you can both turn and start to walk to the fridge yourself, steve clung to you, “it’s carrot and coriander soup, something’s telling me it’s a main ingredient.”

steve hums into your shoulder, a squeeze to your hip, “then it can be coriander soup.” you ignore him, taking the carrots into your hands before walking back to the chopping board with array of vegetables and herbs.

“i thought when you said you’d help make soup that you’d help me make it. not invade my space the entire time,” steve begrudgingly moves away from you, not before placing another kiss to your temple before reaching for the carrots and heading to the sink to wash them.

you watch him for a moment while you think, sighing slightly while turning back to cutting the coriander, “if you don’t want to make it with me, that’s more than okay, baby.” steve furrows his eyebrows when he turns off the sink, drying off the orange vegetables.

“i do want to do this with you, i just want to be close to you is all.”

he shrugs and you hum in response, heart feeling warm and achy from steve’s need to be near you. he was always the affectionate type, but even more-so now and who would you be if you didn’t indulge in it?

leaning over, you grasp another knife and shuffle to the side, “c’mere.” steve brings the carrots with him as he stands beside you, hips pressed together and you silently pass him the knife and begin to cut the rest of the other ingredients.

once everything is cut, you look up to steve and press a quick kiss to his cheek before reaching for his hand. he watches curiously as you guide him behind you and he nearly swoons at the message and instantly melts against your back once again, wrapped up against you.

an appreciative kiss is placed to your shoulder and steve watches as you pick up the board and add the array of food to the pot with oil, soon will become some soup you’ve been ecstatic to cook for autumn.

“this is nice,” steve says, feeling slightly tired from the comfort of it all and just gazing at your movements when you stir the pot. you hum in agreement and both fall into a comfortable silence. not much is said but taking the quality time to do something warming and comforting enough for you both.

plus the squeeze to your frame or the kiss to your neck every so often enough of a telling that you’re both happy and content. only to be more-so once you cuddle under blankets with a scary movie on with the homemade soup you both made. 

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amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[telephoniii]

YOU’RE LOVE IS MAGNETIC… literally

☆彡 in which you drink a magnetic potion

Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Word Counter: 1.6K

Warnings: Reader is Prefect, possible OOC

A/N: We love Mr. Riddle Height-Doesn’t-Matter Rosehearts in this house!! I hope you enjoy :>

In your defense, mostly everything on Trey’s grocery list is edible.

When you were running errands for him, you couldn't help but be curious about an unlabeled drink he needed. It was a fun color! And it was pretty cheap too. So, naturally, you bought another one for yourself to try.

After dropping off the groceries, you popped that bad boy open and took a few sips.

It had a fruity taste that reminded you of strawberries. The taste made you think of Riddle and those strawberry tarts he adored. Since you were already in Heartsbyul, you figured it’d be nice to stop by and say hi to the housewarden.

“Oh, Prefect, it's nice to see you. Did you need something?” Riddle greeted, not expecting to see you. You seemed more cheery than usual, making Riddle smile. “I was just in the area and whatnot. What’re you up to?”

He opened his room door wider, allowing you to step in. “I’m studying. Professor Trein assigned my class a test this Friday due to a few troublemakers.” Riddle explained as he walked towards the desk in his room.

Stacks of books laid upon it which made you wonder, “How long have you been studying?”

Riddle glanced towards his bedside clock. “Approximately 3 hours.” You nearly choked. “3 hours? That's pretty admirable. I think I’d be out after 30 minutes.” The boy gave you an unamused look, raising a brow. “That’s not enough time to effectively review the material in a few days. I hope Ace isn't rubbing off on you.”

You gave the housewarden a small shrug and grin. “I don't think Ace studies at all.” He let out a tired sigh in response, the very thought of Ace just stressing him out already. With a sympathetic look, you lightly rubbed Riddle’s shoulder.

“Well, on the bright side, at least Ace is passing?” Your attempt to comfort him was mediocre at best. A better idea appeared in your mind. With your free hand— the other still resting on Riddle’s shoulder— you pulled out that fruity drink you had bought. “I saw this on Trey’s grocery list and got one for myself. It's some juice thing I think? I’m pretty sure you’ll like it! Try some.”

Riddle looked at you like you were crazy. “Prefect…” His hand flickered between you and the half-empty bottle in your hand. “You are aware that’s a magnetic potion, correct?” You froze.

…What? “Don’t tell me you actually drank that, Prefect.” Riddle’s tone was a mix of concern and disbelief.

“I…uhhh…” You gave him a sorry smile which was met with a displeased face. “You shouldn't go drinking random potions, I expected you to know better—” Riddle continued to lecture you as you realized a bigger problem… You couldn't take your hand off his shoulder.

“Uh huh… Yeah…” You mumbled, trying to nod along to what he was saying as you attempted to pull your hand away from him with no success. “And… and… Prefect?” Riddle murmured as he caught on to what was happening.

“What potion did you say it was again?” You cautiously asked with a nervous chuckle. Riddle paled. “…Let’s go find Professor Crewel.” You simply nodded in response.

Maneuvering out of his room with your hand stuck to his shoulder was oddly difficult as the two of you tried to avoid any other part of you touching. The way your hand was positioned was uncomfortable at best and cramping at worst. Yet, no matter how hard you pulled, it wouldn't come off of Riddle’s shoulder.

Riddle looked just as conflicted, quickly recognizing your discomfort. He tried to think of a way to put you in a more comfortable position before you two went on into the hallways. You couldn't help but admire how he looked when he was thinking. That small pout on his lips was adorable. You wished your eyes were a camera.

You then watched as his cheeks began to flush a hue of red. At first, you worried it was out of frustration from the situation before you recognized that his expression looked more… embarrassed.

Riddle slowly turned to you, his lip lightly quivering. “…Would it be more comfortable if I carried you?” You blinked in surprise. “You know we might be stuck in that position if you carry me, right? Meaning, yknow… you’d be stuck carrying me for a while?”

With a shake of the head, you argued against the idea. “I don't want your arms to go sore or anything. I’ll deal with the hand cramp and weird position.” At those words, a glint of determination appeared in Riddle’s eyes. He took it as a challenge.

“I’ll be fine, believe me.” He hummed, suddenly very motivated to do so. A hint of red still tinted his cheeks, though it had calmed down. Hesitantly, you agreed. Riddle can be pretty stubborn when he’s set on something.

You were still worried considering his stature. Compared to a lot of the other NRC students, physical strength didn't seem like his strong suit. “Jump and I’ll catch you on the count of three… 1… 2…”

As you were instructed, you jumped as he said three and tightly closed your eyes. Your nerves were going haywire. Unexpectedly, you were securely caught by him. Huh. You open your eyes with a tiny sigh of relief before you realize you wrapped your free hand around his neck. And now you can't remove it. Riddle seemed flustered by the touch, clearly not expecting it but not commenting as he cleared his throat.

“I’ve got my pen on me, I’m wielding a spell to make carrying you easier.” He explained, averting his eyes to the side. You nodded, a smile finding its way onto your lips. Riddle was pretty charming from this view.

With you now in his arms, you began to walk to Professor Crewel’s room. Any weird looks were ignored by Riddle.

Riddle wasn't one for lying but… “The prefect hurt their leg. I’m taking them to the health office.” …Is what he answered to any questions about why he was carrying you. Thank Sevens that Crewel’s office wasn't too far from Heartsbyul.

“Quite the position you're in, pups.” Professor Crewel hummed, hands folded on his desk as he looked between the two of you. “I believe I've got a method of separating the two of you. However, the potion itself doesn't go away till the end of the day.”

You grimaced at the thought of magnetically connecting to different people like this. Riddle subtly held you closer. Professor Crewel turned his gaze toward you. “I suggest isolation. Go to Ramshackle and don't let anyone else in, lest you want to end up like this again. Understood?”

“Understood.” You murmured back. Crewel got up from his seat, swiftly grabbing ingredients off a few shelves and tossing them into a potion pot. You watched with curiosity, tilting your head to the side. Sensing your interest, Riddle moved a bit so you could have a better view of what Crewel was doing.

Soon enough, the professor was stirring a pot filled to the brim with a glowing, light blue concoction. With a satisfied hum, Crewel grabbed a yardstick and shoved it in there; making sure the majority of it was covered in the mixture.

“This might burn a little!” He announced. In a blink of an eye, he stuck the stick between you and Riddle. You yelped at the feeling. It felt like you just touched a hot iron. The heat slowly faded away and became bearable in a matter of seconds. Riddle had a similar reaction, a frown blatant on his face.

“So, how long until—” You were cut off as your back hit the floor. Hard. Riddle’s eyes widened. “Prefect! Are you alright!?” You let out a small groan before standing up and brushing off the dirt. “Mhm. Peachy. Just— argh, wasn't expecting the rough landing.” Professor Crewel let out an amused laugh. “Let that be a lesson— don't drink unlabeled potions. Or most potions, period. I understand you come from a different world, but it seems like common sense. Naughty pup.”

You frowned but nodded. “Got it, professor.” Crewel went to put away the materials he used, cleaning off the yardstick. Riddle stretched out his arms a bit. Just as he was about to head back to Heartsbyul—“Hey, Riddle?” Turning to face you, Riddle tilted his head.

“Yes, Prefect?” You flashed him a sincere smile. “Thanks for carrying me. Maybe you could do it again— under better circumstances obviously. That was nice.”

Riddle felt his face heat up once more, stuttering over his words. “I-I… Y-You’re very welcome, Prefect…”

Internally, he couldn't help but wish for the opportunity to hold you again too.

.

.

BONUS

Riddle tapped his pen against the desk, staring at the book in front of him. You invaded his mind during his study time; you and that stupidly cute smile of yours.

He couldn't help but reminisce on how it felt to carry you. Intelligence over brawn has always been his go-to, though it felt strangely nice to be able to support you in that way.

He let out a sigh. Perhaps that was enough studying for tonight. It didn't seem like it was very productive anyway. As he got up, a small ding caught his attention. His eyes darted towards his phone as he raised a brow. Who could that be at this hour?

CATER; aren't u 2 the cutest little luv birds!! **two images attached

Looks like more eyes were on him than he thought when he was carrying you through the hallways… He very discretely saves those photos on his phone.

And one of those photos may or may not be his lock screen.

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋. ⠀⠀( 崇拜我的罪恶，先生。)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. In a time when women were burned for using reason and men were supposed to follow the words of God, a demon took possession of a beautiful young man to teach a lost priest, to love.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Sci-fi, drama, religious au.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Repression, forbidden fruit(?), teasing, tension.

The confessional was nearly dark, illuminated only by the faint flicker of a candle on the nearby altar. You, the priest, sat on the small bench, trying to steady the tremor in your hands as you heard footsteps approaching.

You knew who it was even before he knelt on the other side of the screen.

“Father [...], the world has always been this way, ever since Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit,” Ni-ki began, his tone not just penitent but laced with something darker, something far more intimate. “We were born with sin inside us… as if it were part of our flesh.”

You knew what his words meant, what he was truly trying to say.

You bit your tongue for a moment, tasting the danger in his confession. You responded carefully, your words measured to avoid suspicion but firm like a warning.

“Sin always lies in wait, Ni-ki,” you said with a calmness that barely masked your own turmoil. “But don’t forget that redemption exists, even for the most tormented hearts.”

What you didn’t say was that those very words had failed you on so many nights when the flesh spoke louder than your faith, when your spirit surrendered to Ni-ki.

From the other side, Ni-ki let out a short, almost imperceptible sigh, but to you, it sounded like a scream.

A heavy silence settled between you. You could feel his breath on the other side of the screen, and you knew he was wrestling with himself. Finally, his voice broke the stillness, trembling and barely audible:

“What if… what if sin doesn’t just lie in wait but calls to me? What if my soul leans toward it, as if I can’t resist?”

Heat rose to your face, and you gripped your knees tightly to maintain your composure. You knew him too well.

You knew he wasn’t just talking about sin in the abstract; he was talking about you, about what you’d shared in those fleeting moments where the world seemed to vanish.

“Ni-ki, sin always waits for us, but our will must be stronger than the call of anything that leads us astray,” you said, your voice steadier than your heart.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either—not when you yourself had strayed so many times toward him, toward his lips, toward the abyss of his body.

“Well, we are human, and… the flesh is weak, Ni-ki,” you said, the weight of your own words almost unbearable. “But we must not give in. Each time we fall, we drift further from the grace that has been granted to us.”

“And what if my will isn’t enough?” Ni-ki pressed, his breathing growing heavier, as if your words hurt him as much as they hurt you. “What if there’s no hope for those who have already fallen?”

The question struck you like a dagger. You knew he wanted you to tell him yes, that there was hope, that what you shared wasn’t condemned. But you couldn’t say that—not here, not ever.

The confessional turned into an oven, the air so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Your hands clenched into fists on your knees as you fought the tremor in your chest.

Finally, you leaned closer to the screen, lowering your voice even further.

“Ni-ki… none of us are worthy, but don’t forget that God’s mercy is infinite. No matter how far you think you’ve fallen, there is always redemption… but only if we are willing to let go of what drags us into the abyss.”

Your words felt hollow, even to you. You knew they spoke of him, of the two of you, of the secret you shared that, if discovered, could condemn you both.

Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed wasn’t one of repentance. It was one of restrained desire, of something no prayer or penance could erase.

The silence was unbearable. You could imagine his expression on the other side—the mix of pain and frustration you’d seen so many times in his dark eyes.

“And what about you, Father?” he finally whispered, his voice sharp enough to leave you breathless. “Can you let it go?”

The question hung in the air, both an accusation and a plea. You felt your lips move, but no words came out.

You didn’t have an answer because you knew, despite the guilt eating away at you, despite every moment with him being a reminder of the risk you were taking, you couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t seek him out.

But you couldn’t say that.

“Pray, Ni-ki,” was all you could manage, your voice breaking at the end. “Pray that we both find the strength we need.”

Finally, you heard his voice again, barely a murmur.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… and I will sin again.”

A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were fixed on the screen, searching for yours through the thin barrier.

You closed your eyes and clutched the crucifix hanging from your neck, trying to remember why you had chosen this path.

You heard him stand, his steps retreating slowly, but you didn’t dare to look. You remained there, in the dim light, the unspoken words weighing like chains around your heart.

You knew that when the day ended and the shadows once again blanketed the village, you would seek him out. And that would be your true sin.

The echo of Ni-ki’s footsteps should have faded, but the silence that remained was unsettling, as though something unseen had filled the space.

You stayed seated on the bench of the confessional, your trembling hands clasped tightly in front of you, searching for solace in the words of your own prayer.

Then, a sharp sound shattered the moment. The door on your side of the confessional creaked open. You looked up, your heart stalling for an instant.

Ni-ki stood there, framed in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the candles. His dark eyes bore into yours—not with the softness or the pain you had grown used to seeing in him.

This time, there was something else, something that made your skin crawl.

He remained silent, his lips slightly parted, as if the words refused to leave. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as though caught between the urge to move forward and the fear of crossing a line from which there was no return.

But what unsettled you most was what you saw in his eyes: a dark void, a need that didn’t seem human.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You were frozen.

You could only stare, paralyzed by the intensity of his presence. He was Ni-ki, and yet he wasn’t. The gentle warmth that always lowered your guard now seemed overshadowed by a darkness that made him look… different. Unreal.

Finally, you drew in a breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you asked, though the question came out as little more than a whisper.

He didn’t respond. He stepped into the confessional, and his shadow seemed to stretch, swallowing the space between you. There was no fear in his gaze, but neither was there comfort. It was as though he was about to consume you with his eyes.

“You… look different,” you continued, your hands gripping the edge of the bench to steady yourself. “What is it that you need?”

His reply was barely audible, an echo that seemed to come from some deep corner of his being:

“You.”

Your chest tightened, and the air seemed to abandon you entirely. But there was something in the way he said it—something not like the restrained passion you knew. It was something else, something that chilled you to the bone.

You closed your eyes and began murmuring a prayer, the words spilling from your lips in desperation.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and the heat in the small cabin became suffocating. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and heavy, as if he sought to strip more than just your resolve.

“Hallowed be thy name…” you continued, your hands now trembling uncontrollably. “Deliver us from evil…”

Ni-ki’s voice, softer yet laden with that inhuman intensity, cut through your prayer.

“Do you think that will save you from me?”

Your eyes snapped open, and you saw him so close you could barely breathe.

Ni-ki’s face was mere inches from yours, but his expression was that of someone caught between suffering and ecstasy.

He was real, and he was here to claim you.

Your breaths came shallow, barely enough to keep you conscious as Ni-ki’s gaze pierced through you. His eyes, as dark as the deepest night, glimmered with something you couldn’t name—something that made the air feel heavier, as if reality itself bent to his will.

Ni-ki raised a hand slowly, his fingers brushing the wood of the confessional as though savoring every grain. His voice, low but filled with a power that didn’t seem human, broke the silence.

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

You tried to speak, but the words died in your throat. You were paralyzed, caught between the urge to push him away and the unknown abyss his closeness threatened to drag you into. Ni-ki noticed, and his smile widened, malicious and taunting.

"You know," he continued, his voice low and seductive, every word falling over you like drops of venom, "I’ve always wondered if your prayers were as sincere as you claimed. Now I see they’re not. Not when you tremble like this... with me so close."

He released your chin slowly, but he didn’t move away. His hand trailed downward, grazing the collar of your cassock, his fingers toying with the edge of the fabric, as if tempted to tear it away.

His gaze never left yours, and every movement he made was laced with a clear intention: to make you fall.

"Young lamb of God... this has to stop," you finally managed to say, though your voice was barely a whisper. Your words, however, only seemed to amuse him further.

"Stop?" he repeated, tilting his head with feigned confusion. "Why should I? Isn’t this what you wanted with me?"

The audacity in his tone hit you like a punch. You stared at him with a mix of disbelief and horror, but he was unfazed. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was no space left to breathe.

"Don’t say you didn’t want this, Father." His voice dropped lower, a whisper dripping with insinuation. "I’ve seen how you run your fingers over your lips after they brush against mine... Always thinking no one noticed. But I did. I always did."

Your mind filled with fleeting images—of all the times you’d allowed your gaze to linger on him too long, of all the nights you’d battled thoughts that had no place in the life of a priest.

Ni-ki was tearing through every layer of your defenses, exposing you without mercy.

He leaned in until his face was level with yours, his dark eyes glinting with something deeper, something more terrifying.

"Tell me, Father," he asked, his tone mocking, "how many times have you prayed to be freed from me? How many times have you begged your God to strip this ‘sin’ away from you?"

His fingers, playful yet deliberate, trailed down to your chest, brushing against the cross hanging from your neck.

"You know what I think?" he continued, leaning even closer, his lips grazing the skin of your ear. "I think not even He can save you from me."

Your body reacted before your mind did. You pulled away abruptly, rising from the pew and stumbling back a few steps. But even then, the image of Ni-ki standing there with that wicked smile haunted you.

He didn’t move, but his gaze followed you—intense, inescapable.

"Where are you going, Father?" he asked, his tone feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true game. "To hide behind your office again?"

Desperation overtook you, and you began murmuring a prayer, the words tumbling clumsily from your lips.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, I beg you for your son...”

Ni-ki laughed—a low, dark sound that echoed through the space like a sinister refrain.

“You really think that will work?” he asked, openly mocking you. “Pray all you want, but you know you can’t resist this. You can’t resist me.”

His confidence, his audacity, cut through you like a twisted blade. You wanted to scream, to cry for help, but there was no one else. No one who could understand what was happening—not even you.

His eyes, dark and searing, were locked on yours. There was something in his gaze you couldn’t fully decipher—something between desperation and defiance, as though he were on the verge of breaking something inside himself... or inside you.

“What will you do now, Father?” he asked, his tone barely a whisper yet powerful enough to drown out the prayers you were trying to recite. “Will you cast me out? Or will you fall to your knees before me, as you’ve done so many times in your mind?”

Your breathing was erratic, your hands trembling as you clung to the rosary like a lifeline.

But Ni-ki offered no reprieve. His face was now just a breath away from yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your lips moved without purpose. “Ni-ki, this... this isn’t right,” you managed to say, though your voice was barely audible, a broken echo of your feeble resistance.

He tilted his head, and the smile on his lips softened, though his eyes still burned with an intensity that stripped away every defense you had.

“Not right?” he repeated, his tone laced with mockery but tinged with something deeper, something painfully intimate. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t desire me anymore, and I’ll leave.”

His words pierced you like a knife because you knew you couldn’t say them. Not without lying. Not without betraying the truth you buried deep inside yourself. You tried to look away, but his hand rose, warm and firm, cradling your face with a tenderness that starkly contrasted the storm of emotions he’d unleashed.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more commanding.

Your heart pounded fiercely, each beat reverberating in your ears like a war drum. The space around you seemed to collapse, until all that existed was him—his face, his eyes, the overwhelming intensity of his presence that engulfed you like a tidal wave.

“Say it,” he whispered, demanding, his thumb grazing your cheek softly as his eyes flicked to your lips. “Say it, and I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because in that moment, the truth became unbearably clear. Ni-ki wasn’t just your temptation—he was your surrender.

And then it happened.

He leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you in an instant. His lips crashed against yours—firm, insistent, brimming with an intensity that could no longer be ignored.

It was a deep, desperate kiss, laden with everything both of you had suppressed for far too long.

Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of who you were, where you were, what this meant. But your body—treacherous, rebellious—did not resist. Your lips moved against his, responding with the same desperation, as if you were both drowning, and this was the only air you could share.

The taste of him—somewhere between the bitterness of the forbidden and the sweetness of the inevitable—imprinted itself on you. Your hands, which had initially pushed against him, betrayed you by clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

His hand on your face slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while his body pressed into yours, erasing every inch of space between you.

The world seemed to stop.

The confessional, the church, even the cross hanging above you vanished, eclipsed by the sheer intensity of the moment. This kiss wasn’t just an act of passion; it was a battle—a war between who you were and what he made you feel.

Ni-ki let out a low sound, almost a stifled groan, and his body pressed harder against yours, making it clear this was not a fleeting lapse in judgment. It was a cry, a desperate act born of something deeper than either of you could admit aloud.

When he finally pulled back—barely an inch—the spell broke, leaving you both gasping, your breaths mingling in the charged air. His gaze bore into yours, the darkness in his eyes more intense than ever.

“I knew it,” he murmured, his voice rough, laced with a dangerous satisfaction. “You couldn’t even stop yourself.”

His words left you paralyzed, unable to respond as your thoughts spiraled. But Ni-ki didn’t wait for an answer. With one final look, heavy with unspoken promises, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours in a gesture almost tender.

“This isn’t over, love.” he whispered before stepping back slowly, his smile returning with a victorious edge. “This is only the beginning.”

And with those words, he left the confessional, leaving you alone, trapped in a silence that no longer felt sacred, your lips still burning from his touch and your soul staring into the abyss he had opened within you.

The wood clicked softly as you slid the small door shut, sealing yourself off from the rest of the world. The confined space, once a refuge for penitence and absolution, now felt charged with something entirely different. Your breaths came quick and uneven, as though the air itself refused to fill your lungs.

Your mind was chaos.

Images of Ni-ki—his dark gaze, his malicious smile, the heat of his touch, and, most vividly, the memory of his lips on yours and his tongue invading your mouth—were seared into your consciousness like a burning brand.

Every time you tried to push those thoughts away, they came rushing back, stronger, dragging you into the moment you had just shared.

Your hands trembled as you attempted to entwine your fingers with the rosary still hanging around your neck, searching for an anchor, a lifeline to pull you from this inner storm. But instead of solace, you found an insatiable hunger, a need that consumed you from within.

You closed your eyes, leaning your back against the wooden confessional as if the cold surface could extinguish the fire raging beneath your skin. But it didn’t.

The heat coursed through your chest, your throat, every part of you, an unstoppable tide that left no room for reason.

Your hands, which had sought refuge in the rosary, slowly fell, almost as if guided by some force outside your control. They grazed your neck, where the ghost of Ni-ki’s fingers still lingered, before trailing down to your chest, tracing the fabric of your cassock. Your breathing quickened as your fingers pressed lightly against the material, as though trying to erase the weight of his touch—or perhaps summon it again.

Guilt began to rise, but it was quickly drowned out by a wave of desire you couldn’t contain. The echo of Ni-ki’s words resonated in your mind, every syllable a spark that fed the fire within you.

“You can’t escape me.”

A shiver ran through your body at the memory of how he had said it, how his lips had formed those words while his gaze devoured you.

Your hands continued their journey, sliding past your waist, your fingers tracing lines that burned even through the cloth. It was as if the memory of him was etched into every fiber of your being, impossible to tear away.

It was a matter of seconds before you slipped one of your hands inside your pants and underwear, caressing and squeezing your manhood. At that moment you just wanted to break free, as you always did when you were alone in your office or room.

At that moment, the confessional ceased to be a holy place. Its sanctity had been lost the instant you allowed yourself to succumb to the desire Ni-ki had ignited. Your lips, still swollen from the kiss, parted with a soft sigh as your free hand clutched at your cassock, as if the simple gesture could release some of the pressure consuming you.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against the wall of the confessional, your ragged breaths filling the small space. It was a struggle, a battle between what you knew was right and what your body craved with terrifying intensity.

“This is a sin...”

You knew it, but the knowledge wasn’t enough to stop you. The weight of your faith, which had always been your guide, now felt like an impossible burden to bear. And deep within your soul, you recognized the truth you had been trying to deny for so long.

You didn’t want to stop.

Your voice escaped in a barely audible whisper, a mixture of plea and despair.

“God, forgive me... for I am being dragged down by Satan’s lust...”

But even as you spoke those words, your hands continued to move, one clutching at the fabric of your cassock while the other traced your body with an intensity you had never allowed yourself before. In that moment, there was no room for regret—only for the raw, overwhelming desire Ni-ki had left behind, like an indelible mark etched into your very being.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I know almost nothing about the church or religion itself, so I made up most of the prayers...

+ New stories on the way, I promise. 🙂‍↕️︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[paigegonerogue]

New Trailer Analysis

This is just my job at this point. This is what I do. This isn’t including clips we’ve seen in previous trailers, so if you want to see my thoughts on those check my other trailer analysis’💖

(This is probably my best trailer analysis yet)

SPOILERS!!

I loved the emphasis of the red and green in this trailer. It’s a pair of complimentary colors that don’t get used nearly enough, especially compared to the more stereotypical orange/teal. Also, this is definetly Abby’s POV of the hospital, which means we WILL be getting her backstory at some point in the season, so we almost definetly won’t be ending on the POV shift/following the exact structure of the game. Also, this makes me love the decision for Joel’s rampage to feel dissociative even more, since for him everything goes quiet and he rages through the halls, but for Abby she experiences the full horror of it.

Abby’s gun from the game!

Firefly pendant!

I just love this shot. The colors and composition are so good, it brings to mind horror movies like Alien which really enforces Joel as this “force of nature” being during the hospital rampage.

This is a Seraphite. You can tell by the outfit, as well as the weapon. This might be the first time Ellie meets them, since it appears to be in the forest with fire lighting. This may be the ritual.

It’s edited to look like Isaac is part of the ritual, but the background colors and lighting don’t match up. This is almost definitely a sneaky edit.

Ellie and Dina are wearing the same clothes from the early set photos. This is Ellie’s raincoat, which means this is probably Seattle day 1. They appear to be running from something, probably WLF?

This is the dance scene, you can tell by the outfits and hairstyles. This reinforces the fact that they almost definitely won’t be telling the story in the same order. Also, Dina is wearing a bracelet with the Hand of Fatima (aka the Hamsa Hand or the Hand of Mary). This is a common icon in Jewish culture that’s used to ward off evil (my nana gave me a necklace just like this). However, it’s also commonly used in Peru (where Isabella Merced’s mom is from), so I like to think that this is paying respects to the characters original roots while also tying into to her current ones, rather than a confirmation that Dina will be played Jewish.

JOELLLLLL!! This is probably around when he meets Abby, judging by the snow and general setting. My guess is he’s slamming the door against infected.

More time in Jackson!! Judging by the level of Ellie’s level of intensity here, I think it’s very possible that this is after Joel’s death and she’s training for Seattle. Or possibly around the time of the firefly hospital, since this is definitely not young Ellie.

God did I already say how much I loved the red lighting? Yes? Okay, the I’ll just say that judging by the background and the colors this is probably the subway station. This and the Jackson horde seem to be the big sequences of s2, like Endure and Survive in s1.

Also, in the v/o we hear Abby refer to herself as “someone with a code”, but I’m fairly certain that she, nor the WLF have a strict code to follow, so maybe that’s something to be added (or her just speaking in terms of general morals)

We didn’t get a ton of new stuff this trailer, and it wasn’t quite as character driven as the Future Days trailer, but I’m still hyped we got anything lmao

ALSO I WAS RIGHT!! CHECK MY POSTS!! APRIL!! GO ME!!

[eldritch-spouse]

I’m hanging out in the sloth ring, on the phone quietly with a friend or something, nobody is paying me much attention so I don’t mind having a bit of a scandalous conversation in public:

“- look I adore somnophilia, I really do, but in practicality it doesn’t work. I wake up far too easily,”

Conversation moves on to other kinks or related topics, me not paying to much attention to who just overheard me.

[I don't exactly know if you were aiming at anyone here, so I rolled the dice.]

Sloth is a quiet Ring.

The lights are dimmed, sounds are muted, movement comes in bursts then settles, even the sky in this part of Hell appears darker to keep its residents sedated. And, sure enough, even a human like you feels tired, for no apparent reason, in the grounds of the slothful.

Precisely because of how quiet and still everything is, foreigners assume that they're safe, that no one is giving them an ounce of scrutiny and there's hardly a need to watch themselves.

Any good prey knows that the absence of sound is trouble.

Closed eyes and softly rising chests don't mean anything. The streets are lively, you just can't tell.

Absorbed in conversation, you've been walking gradually slower, until you all but halted in the middle of the sidewalk. Sloth expects people to want to lay down just about anywhere, so you had a seat waiting for you.

Little did you know, you were right in front of a demoness' hair salon.

Lucidia takes her time to work, she'll admit it, but the benefit of such is that she can put her professional perfectionism in front of everything, the knowledge of her success helping her through the sludge that is cleaning up after a client. She'd been sweeping snipped hair off the floor when she noticed you out front.

You talk loudly. Foreigners always do. Shamelessly too. The woman subtly evaluates you from top to bottom.

It's impossible to tell, but Luci assumes you're here to visit someone, everything about you screams 'excited to be here'. You're decently dressed, and when you turn your head around a bit, she finds beautiful features on a human complexion. It's a shame that, having such natural beauty, you walk around with such lackluster hair.

The demoness blinks when the topic of your conversation becomes increasingly obscene. She's sure the neighboring businesses are hearing this too.

Somnophilia...? Someone's going to approach you sooner or later. You're dumb.

Did you come here for the experience? Because your surfacer bedfriends can't do it properly? You certainly sound frustrated about it. Lucidia murmurs to herself that this could be a trap, that you're intentionally baiting slothfolk to come onto you because you know they can keep you under, they can make your fantasy a reality.

But even then, you're so ignorant.

What makes you think they'd stop at touching you in your sleep? What makes you think they'd have any reason to let go of you when you're at your most vulnerable? You could never wake up again, if they wanted to feed off you for as long as possible. The number of horrid things that could happen to someone as airheaded as you if you were to fall into opportunistic hands is endless.

Your conversation seems to die out when another demon exits a store from across the street, staring at you knowingly.

Luci doesn't realize she's moving until she's nearly fogging the hair salon window, glowering wordlessly behind you, at the other stranger. Adrenaline irritates her, she likes to avoid it, but the woman definitely feels her heart hammer in her chest at the thought of someone coming over and trying to mess with you.

They seem to get the message, looking between you and her, then hurrying down the street.

Lucidia sighs almost gutturally, and decides you can't be outside for much longer.

The demoness may be tall, yet her footsteps are near soundless. She settles beside you casually on the sidewalk, getting to stare you over again for several moments until you take note of the shadow suddenly cast onto you.

" Hello... " She greets softly and quietly when you appear to startle. " Do you want to sit... Inside? "

While you hesitate to answer, Luci can almost see the sweat starting to form on your forehead.

" ... It'll get dark soon. Things'll... Pick up. "

You don't respond again, some lost 'hum's and 'ha's escaping.

" Your conversation... I heard it. " She doesn't bother to hide a small smile when you pale a couple shades. " So did the whole street... If I had to guess. "

" Oh God- " You murmur under your breath.

" ... Let me style your hair. " She daringly suggests, threading a long-fingered hand through locks of it. " I won't let anyone bother you... "

Anyone but herself, naturally.

If you just so happened to doze off while Lucidia carefully shapes your hair, then who is she not to give you just a little taste of what you so shamelessly crave?

There's no hiding the rumbles of satisfaction when you nod quickly and let her lead you into the hair salon, the chime of a little bell signaling Luci's victory.

[brickeater712]

mesmerism

cw: professor!chameleon x student!reader, reader is in university and of age, hypnotism, cunnilingus, power bottom chameleon, strap-ons, nonconsensual mind snooping (???), semi-public sex at the end, very bad understanding of the human sexuality syllabus

a/n: sorry to anyone who takes or has taken the human sexuality program.

you don’t quite remember the exact moment she had wormed her way into your mind. you don’t recall when you had started looking at your psychology professor that way, and you certainly don’t remember the first time you lay on your bed, thrusting your fingers deep into your dripping cunt to the thought of her. and most importantly, you definitely don’t remember a quarter of your lesson material- because you were too busy dreaming away about your professor.

you think it’s not obvious. you hope it’s not. but you don’t know that your professor notices every tint of red on your cheeks and flits of your eyes. 

at first, she downplays it as nothing more than a fidgety student. but with every lesson that passes by, her interests grows- especially after watching the way you’d cutely ask her questions after class. 

“mi- miss theseus?” 

your professor turns around to see you, bright eyes staring up at her curiously. she smiles, noting the enthusiasm in your demeanor- and perhaps, something more than that. 

“hello, darling,” she watches as your face flushes ever so slightly, “have a question?”

“well… it’s somewhat embarrassing, but- i was just wondering… is there truly no difference between a vaginal and clitorial orgasm? if they both originate from different spots, surely they aren't the same…”

you flush as you ask the question. her lips curl into a little smile.

strange, she wonders. no one has asked her this question before, if she recalls. the only way someone would have to ask if-

“never had either before?” she teases, but manages to infer from your reaction that she was right. she relishes in the way your eyes look elsewhere and the shuffling of your feet.

you're quick to deny it, but she already knows. no matter- she can always touch on that again on a future date.

it was never just one occurrence, either. many times you would approach her, asking… questions… that might hint at something more than an educational curiosity. 

“would you know if homosexuals have better communication than heterosexuals…?” 

a thinly veiled implication.

“well, i wouldn’t know about the latter…” she mused, and walked off, leaving you to think about the answer.

she could hear an almost-silent squeal from you.

you pique her interest- more so than she would've expected. she enjoys observing the way your fingers fiddle with each other whenever you speak to her. it doesn't take long for her to begin sorting through your mind with her little tricks- 

only to see the perverted little fantasies that you hoard- especially in her classes. she tends to find you thinking about her thighs - wondering how she'd look in a gorgeous low cut blouse.

of course, she doesn't hesitate to wear one the next day, leaving you nearly drooling onto your lap. she had fun poking around your mind that day- filled with thoughts of eating her out on her teacher's desk. 

this little game of hers continues for weeks, sifting through your head to pick out your preferences- what makes you fidget, what makes you flustered. she ups the ante as well, walking up behind you when you least expect it, placing a gentle hand on your trembling shoulder. 

you remember her leaning in close, close enough that the scent of her perfume overwhelms you, and her breast only lightly brushes against your hair, and that was only for a mere few seconds before you mutter out something about ‘going to the bathroom’, and scampering out of the classroom like a little mouse.

all she did was giggle, and return to her table.

the day she decides to start her little plan is a mundane one- at least for you. well, nothing out of the ordinary about your fantasies anyways- except for one at the very back of your mind, that she couldn’t quite reach herself. what better way to expose it than getting you to say it?

you only snap out of your daydreams when you feel your professor’s presence behind you- whipping your head around quickly to see her smiling down at you. 

“see me after class. i have something to show you.” she walks away without turning around, leaving you vibrating in excitement in your seat. time passes by as slowly as ever- until finally, the bell rings, and the rest of the students filter out of the classroom one by one, except you.

when the last student finally exits, she looks up from her work to you staring directly at her, and beckons you to come forward with a wave of her finger. 

you stumble forward, nearly falling flat on your face. “yes, ms theseus?” you ask, wondering why she'd ask you to stay behind.

“don't be too worried dear, you're not in trouble.” she muses. “i’m just here to ask you about something.”

you nod your head curiously, waiting for her to continue.

“i was wondering- what do you think of hypnotism in therapy?” 

“mmm…” you think out loud. your professor was never one to hide details about her career- once mentioning the way she dabbled in hypnotherapy. 

“well, i don’t particularly know how useful it would be for all patients, especially since not everyone has the same hypnotizability rate, and it doesn’t change with age…” you offer your opinion thoughtfully.

“what about if you were the patient? what do you think?” 

“me…? i… uh…” you trail off, suddenly experiencing a strange feeling rising in your gut. 

you stop mumbling as you watch her take her pocket watch attached to her belt. before you can ask what she was doing, she puts it in front of your face and snaps !

you blink confusedly, feeling no change in your body. that is, until she decided to ask a question. “well, let’s try it right now. what do you feel?”

you try to speak, but the words that come out of your mouth don’t feel like yours- or at least they feel like they’ve been forced out of you. “afraid.” you blurt out, and slap your hand over your mouth immediately after.

she stands up and advances towards you. “really? afraid? of what?” she almost-whispers, trying to pry an answer out of you.

you can only take steps backward. “of, of-” you stutter, trying to suppress the words bubbling in your throat. 

“tell your professor, darling- are you hiding something from me?” she presses harder, cornering you as your ass hits the table behind you. nowhere to run. 

“n-no…” you look away, avoiding eye contact. 

“really? nothing like, say, a fantasy-” 

you cut her off with words that force their way out of your mouth once again. “of you?” your eyes widen and your body starts to tremble. 

“that’s right.” you don’t see it, but her lips curl into a sneer. “tell me more.” 

not a question, a command. 

“of, of you…” you try to swallow down the fantasy prodding inside your head, but her power is much stronger than that. “...taking me on your lap-” when the words are uttered, your core flares to life, arousal coursing through your body, despite your vocal autonomy not being your own. 

“mm. anything else, dear?” she pushes even harder. 

tears well up in your eyes, but your core gets wet too- being cornered by your favourite professor like this. she places a hand on your shoulder, making you shake harder. 

“um- uh, spanking me… in your office… telling me to keep quiet… while other people walk past…” you mumble out- embarrassed of that fantasy in particular. 

what a cute thing she’s been hiding from me, she wonders. with that, she retreats, leaving you with room to catch your breath. 

“well, that’s all i have to ask for now, darling. next time,” she mumbles, “will be a lot more… exciting.” just like that, before you can react to anything, she raises her hand and snap!

you jolt up in your seat in the classroom, from what seemed like nothing more than a filthy dream, one that left your panties wet. you look around confusedly, only to see that everyone had already left the classroom, except your professor, who had noticed your awakening. 

“good afternoon, dear.” she chuckles, closing her book. “i was going to wake you up, but you were sleeping so peacefully.” she almost coos at you, standing up to walk toward you. 

you’re confused. what just happened? was that really just a dream? but it felt so real…

while you were caught up in your thoughts, she reaches your side and places a hand on your shoulder. 

“remember to sleep early, dear, we can’t have you falling asleep in class.” and just like that, she leaves the classroom, and leaves you in a daze. 

you shift in your seat, trying to process what had just transpired, hyper-aware of the heat in your groin. another cold shower tonight, you suppose, one filled with the memories of what seemed to be a dream. 

the following weeks seem to be a hazy, heat filled one. your professor keeps wearing the exact outfits you always dream of, and multiple dreams of you confessing your deepest desires to her- but always ending up waking at your desk, with her smiling at you as kindly as ever.

you think it’s quite strange- it’s almost like someone is listening to your thoughts, and somehow bringing them to life. everytime your professor shows up in an outfit that is someone just your type, you thank the heavens above- not knowing that she finds it quite amusing. 

once she’s pried enough secrets out of you, she finally decides to confront you, on a day just like any other, sunset filtering through the blinds of the classroom windows. all the students are gone, just like usual, leaving just you and her in the classroom, together. today, she’s dressed in a way that you seem to have fantasized about the most- her blouse, with the top three buttons conveniently undone, and a short pencil skirt, and you couldn’t help but drool over yourself when you thought she wasn’t looking. 

she approaches you in the same way she has in so many other countless ‘dreams’. and she’s straight to the point this time. 

“so darling, when were you going to tell me about how you want to eat me out from under my desk?” she sits on the table in front of yours, legs crossed. she says it nonchalantly, as if it were another question on the syllabus. 

“wh-what? what are you-” 

she reaches out to give your cheek a little pat. “hush now, i know more than you might think, dear.” she stands up and walks behind you, putting both hands on your shoulders. “don’t think i don’t notice you drooling over me during class. you’re lucky you’re a top student- or i’d be a lot more strict on you.”

her words ignite a spark in you- strict? what kind of strict is she talking about? punishing you with a cane? denying you of orgasms? perhaps- 

“listen when your professor is talking.” she tuts, making you snap back to her gaze. an extreme sense of deja vu hits you- has this truly happened before? 

“now as i was saying. when were you going to tell me? after graduation? that’d be too late, no? what other time will you finger me on my desk?” she whispers it now, riling you up slowly as she spills your own secrets back to you.

“i know, darling,” she watches in amusement as she caresses your shoulder, almost grazing over your neck. “i know the way you want me to hurt you, to pleasure you, to take you mine. ” she sighs. “i just wished you’d have told me earlier to save all this time. even though i teased you so much, you still did nothing to chase your desires.”

“how…” your voice comes out quiet and meek, unable to look her in the eyes. 

“that’s my secret, darling. not for you to know- at least not now.”

before she can say another word, you burst into tears. “i-i, i’m so sorry, miss theseus, i promise it won’t happen again, i didn’t mean t-” 

a finger, pressed against your mouth, shushes you. “i never said i was mad, darling. i do find you quite adorable, actually.”

your tears clear up quick, sniffling quietly as you look up at her.

she prompts you to stand up, and motions you to follow her to the front of the classroom. she very quickly, but seductively, strips herself of her skirt, leaving herself in lace panties. you can only stare in shock as she leans against her desk.

 “well? what are you waiting for? it’s in your human instinct to embrace your innate desires. go on, have a taste of what you’ve been dreaming of.” 

without any hesitation, you drop to your knees in front of her and pull down her panties, making her gasp and giggle at your eagerness. 

“no rush, dear, the classrooms only get cleaned at night.” she mumbles, stroking your hair, spreading her legs to reveal her core. you note that she’s already wet- no doubt from teasing and making you squirm. you don’t really feel like taking your time- foreplay can wait for another day- and you dive right in, licking broad, flat stripes up her cunt, reveling in the absolutely delicious taste. you moan when your tongue hits her already hard clit, vibrations traveling through her to make her whimper softly. 

you eat her out like a starved woman, occasionally plunging your tongue into her hole. you push your nose against her trimmed pubic hair, inhaling her scent as much as you can. it makes you giddy, and it makes your eating sloppy.  

above you, she moans as she very gently pushes your head harder against her, nearly grinding her hips against your face. “so good,” she sighs out, “you’ve learnt quite a bit in this class, huh?” she chuckles, but you’re far too occupied to respond. one of your hands, previously gripping her soft thigh, moves to prod at her entrance. 

you move up and suck at her clit gently, making her grip your hair harder. “c’mon, put that tongue to more use… you’re always asking your little questions anyways, yeah? the ones that- oh!- ” she gets cut off as you push two of your fingers into her slowly- “the ones that you think are just- haah, regular questions…” she throws her head back as you hilt your fingers completely in her cunt.

your face heats up when you recall the countless questions you had asked her, poorly disguised in the name of education when really, you were just trying to gather some information about her. she continues to tease you.

“there’s so much that i know… you didn’t think a licensed psychologist couldn’t figure out what you were thinking? how pathetic.” she mocks, recalling that you quite enjoy being degraded in your fantasies. your own pussy burns at her words, almost having half a mind to reposition yourself and grind down on her heel. 

she knows that you’re wet, almost more than her, and decides to offer it to you. she moves her leg to tap your clothed crotch with her heel. you whine into her cunt.

“grind.” the order is short and simple, and you waste no time trying your best to pleasure yourself on her. in turn, you thrust your fingers quickly, trying to make her cum over you. you start sucking her clit harder, earning a “good girl” from her, and curl your fingers into her soft, sweet spot, making her cries reverberate throughout the room. 

“just a little more, darling- oh… next time, it’ll be under my desk during class…” she coos, encouraging you to drive her over the edge. you barely get a warning as you feel her clenching around your fingers, and she pushes her head hard as she climaxes, cum dripping down your wrist. she moans into the air softly, riding her high out on your face. 

“ good girl, ” she mumbles, slapping your cheek a few times when you pull away, a string of slick connecting your face to her red cunt. “much better than i expected. but i think, you still have a lot to learn…” 

you nod, almost drooling, ready to accept any lesson from her. you almost reluctantly move yourself off her heel to stand up, leaving yourself unsatisfied.

but you're here to please her, after all.

“well then,” she moves to her desk to take something out of a drawer. “how about this?” she pulls out- a harness, and a dildo- something which strangely fits your tastes. “it’s time to properly learn how to please a woman like me.” she smiles, and hands them to you.

you fumble slightly putting it on, hearing the metal bits clank together. it amuses your professor, but eventually you get it on. “good.” she purrs, and lies on her back on her desk and gets comfortable. she uses her fingers to spread her cunt, to show you her sopping hole, enticing you to come closer. “come on now, fuck me like you’ve always wanted to.”

you stumble forward, entranced, one hand holding up the strap and prodding at her hole. “miss theseus… i can’t believe this is happening.” you breathe out, still in disbelief. “thank you…” but before you can say anything else, she shushes you.

“the sentiments can come later. come on, you have much to learn…” she teases. 

“then i’ll have to oblige.” you murmur, slowly pushing into her tight, warm, cunt. she lays her head on the table, moaning as she feels the stretch. 

“a pity i can’t teach you this during class. you’d already have me crying on this desk if that were the case.” she drawls, trying to provoke you into speeding up. you take the hint. 

without any warning, you push all the way in, hilting yourself in her pussy. she moans in shock, but she clearly doesn’t mind as she grinds back onto your strap, and wraps her legs around your waist.

you start moving, putting your hands on her soft hips to steady yourself. you thrust clumsily, trying to set a rhythm to please the older woman. you try to thrust upward to the spot you had hit with your fingers, jerking the strap around inside her. her long, drawn-out moans fill the room, and you desperately pray that no one is walking outside right now.

she’s already sensitive- and it doesn’t take long for your thrusts to exert more power as you feel her clenching around you.

“faster, dear,” she moans, hands gripping the edge of the table, “make me cum, and i’ll reward you.” 

the idea of a reward makes sparks erupt in your brain, and you speed up, thrusting mindlessly in an attempt to get her to cum faster. you move a hand to rub on her hard clit, making her whimper on the desk. “just like that.” she whines, drawing closer to her orgasm. 

her moans grow louder in a beautiful crescendo, and when her pitch reaches its peak, so does she. she tightens incredibly around your strap, creaming around it as you hilt yourself inside her all the way. her limbs tremble, eyes rolled back into her head as she processes her orgasm fully. when she stops shaking, you look down and pull out to see a ring of white on the base of the strap. 

she slowly sits up on the desk, panting, sweat-covered, and with a small smirk.

“good girl. you’ll get a reward tomorrow.” she breathes out.

__________

“now class, i’ll be grading your papers so go about your own studies. the exam is next week.” 

groans of ‘yes, miss theseus’ ring about, students jeering at being reminded about the finals.

“good, they’ll be busy doing their own things.” she murmurs under her breath. underneath her desk, you plunge your tongue inside her cunt, hidden from view. she’s good at hiding her orgasm- already came on your face once without any visible reaction. 

“i think i’ll keep you under here for the rest of the semester. i’ll get you a pillow for your poor knees.” she says as quietly as possible. all you do is nod vigorously and continue eating her out, trying to please your professor as much as possible- as much as she wants. 

[sasukeless]

i just think people overall don’t focus nearly enough on the fact that naruto literally admits that sasuke saved him from falling into darkness.

naruto saving sasuke it’s a choice/goal he himself chooses and dedicated himself to. meanwhile when he talks about sasuke saving him he’s not even talking about them as genin or anything. he’s referring to back when they were kids at the academy… back when they DIDN’T SPOKE A WORD TO EACH OTHER? do you even get how big that is? if sasuke existing only has that much impact on naruto, it’s no wonder he treats sasuke as his entire universe, making him his priority above everyone including his own needs and goals. it’s no wonder he’s that codependent in him that he would rather drag both of them to the grave than live or die without sasuke by his side. it’s no wonder how there’s nothing sasuke could to that would make him turn from him nor take him out of the pedestal he has sasuke on… it’s truly a level of devotion and worship you only have to your God

[araybiaaa]

sofia valdez is not amused by rafe cameron; not when she’s heard enough stories from her friends to know that he’s dangerous. what starts off as disdain towards him, in solidarity with her friends, slowly turns into her falling for the boy she promised to stay away from.

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pairing: rafe cameron x sofia

tags: enemies to lovers, pining, drinking, mentions of drugs.

notes: after what feels like an eternity i’ve finally updated this story lol. i revamped this chapter so much but i think i’m happy with how it turned out! this one is super long, so be aware!

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“Country Club!” Rafe smirks in amusement when he hears the familiar proclamation of Barry’s sing-songy greeting.

He wades his way through the crowd of people, feeling Nicole vehemently lug on his hand as she followed in tow behind him. He peers at her over his shoulder, seeing the upturned furrow of her nose as she clutched her purse securely against her chest. Rafe shakes his head, rolling his eyes at her pompous attitude.

“Rafe, are you sure it’s safe over here?” She whispers, releasing his hand so that she’s able to anchor herself against his arm instead.

When Barry invited him to his party, Rafe had every intention of attending the party alone, but as soon as Nicole learned that he was going out tonight she was adamant on accompanying him even when he told her that the party’s location was behind held on the other side of the island in The Cut. He was reluctant on bringing her, but she promised to keep thoughts and behavior in tact.

“Relax. Nothing’s gonna happen to you,”

Nicole seemed unconvinced at his attempted reassurance, pursing her lips in a deeper frown when a group of guys greeted Rafe in passing. “Ugh! How do you even know these people?” And when she sees Barry suddenly approaching them, she nearly cowers behind Rafe as she tightened her grip.

“Rafe Cameron!” Barry proffered his hand out to greet him in a dapped embrace. Rafe retracts himself from around Nicole’s vice grip so that he’s able to return the gesture. “Took you long enough, the party already started without you!”

Rafe chuckles, casually wandering his eyes around at the partygoers. Everyone here was either inebriated or on the precipice of it. Unlike the parties on figure eight that were lavish and were often thrown at mansions and had hundreds of occupants in attendance; this one was more lowkey which Rafe favored.

He liked that he had separated worlds with separate friends.

Sometimes, it was admittedly easier being around Barry than his other friends. Though years of friendship bonded them as more as brothers than friends, Rafe can admit that he’s found himself preferring Barry’s company as of late as opposed to Topper and Kelce’s. He knows that at least with Barry, he’ll get a night free of pogue-bashing and will actually get to enjoy himself rather than listen to another one of Topper’s drunken spiels.

“You and your lady friend go grab a cup and catch up! You can’t be the only sober motherfuckers here,” Barry insisted; clasping a hand on Rafe’s back before he’s sauntering away to talk to a group of his friends. Knowing that a few cups of beer would definitely be needed with a night with Nicole especially with how she’s acting, Rafe retreated to the keg.

“You want some?” He offers as he pulled the lever down and filled his cup with the frothy liquid until it’s pooled at the rim. She shakes her head in decline, tucking her arms across her chest as she looked around warily at her surroundings. “No one’s going to steal anything from you, Nicole. You’ve gotta lighten up.”

“You don’t know that!”

Rafe rolls his eyes, already past the point of exasperation at her prudish behavior. He’s looking around the party again, absentminded in the gesture, when he sees her. He feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her and he averts his eyes over to Nicole, desperately hoping that she hadn’t noticed his unabashed gawking.

He hasn’t seen her since the beach incident. He’d stopped by the club a few times to see if she would be there so he could apologize on behalf of his friends again. But she was either adamantly avoiding him or hadn’t returned to work recently, because every time he asked one of her coworkers for her whereabouts they’d say that she wasn’t there that day.

(And now that he thinks about it — they probably told him that because they were cautious of him; probably thinking he was stalking her or something. Upon this realization, he feels his cheeks pinken and warm in chagrin.)

He hides his blush behind his cup, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes never avert away from her even as she approached Barry. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that they know each other but it does. Barry’s a good friend, but he was a bit rough hewn which was completely antithetical of Sofia’s quiet and more reserved personality.

But then Rafe remembered that she’s also friends with JJ Maybank who’s just as intrepid (probably more so) than Barry, so his initial surprise is dissuaded almost immediately. However, unlike JJ, there’s a certain familiarity that he notices between Sofia and Barry that has his curiosity piqued.

When she approaches him, Barry’s mouth stretched in a mirthful smile while hers mimicked a shy one. When he pulls her in for a hug, Rafe notices how long the embrace lasts and how Barry’s hand rests on the small of her back; comfortable in its perch. He turns his head and whispers something into her ear and whatever he says must be hilarious because he could hear Sofia’s laughter ricochet all the way through the kitchen to where he stood.

And it only takes a moment for the realization that they were flirting to dawn upon him. He feels a tightening pulling in his jaw and the skin between his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he narrowed his gaze. It was ridiculous for him to be harboring these feelings of jealousy over someone that wasn’t his (or didn’t even like him) but he couldn’t help the feeling of envy that arose the longer he stared at them.

His mind began to concoct torturous thoughts that did absolutely nothing to subside his jealousy — wondering how they met, why Barry didn’t tell him about her and why his hand hasn’t moved away from her back yet.

“I uh, I have to go talk to Barry about something. I’ll be right back,”

Nicole’s eyes widen in bewilderment as she gives him a perplexed look. “You’re leaving me here alone?” She asks incredulously, almost offended at the prospect.

Rafe sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead in contemplation. He didn’t want to walk over there with Nicole especially after everything that happened at the beach, but he knows he’ll never hear the end of her nagging if he left her side for even the slightest second.

“Okay, fine. But just don’t say anything when we get over there. Alright?” He didn’t want her taunting Sofia about Ruthie’s rude behavior.

“Okay, jeez.” She murmurs, rolling her eyes as she huffed a petulant pout before trailing behind him in tow. Rafe squeezes his way through the crowd of people, beelining his way over to where Barry and Sofia stood.

They’re still deeply engaged in their conversation; too distracted — with him still leaned down talking in her ear and her eyes crinkling in mirth as her heartfelt laughter filled throughout the room — to notice Rafe’s sudden approach. He substitutes his glower in exchange for a genial smile as he clasped a hand over Barry’s shoulder.

Both Barry and Sofia are retracted from their conversation at Rafe’s sudden interjection. He blinks a look of surprise, but greets Rafe with the same amicability as before, unmoored by the interruption. “Wassup?” His hand abandons it perch on Sofia’s back but he still remains in close proximity of her to where he’s nearly shielding her from his view.

And Rafe wonders if it was intentional.

His eyes wander over Barry’s shoulder, peering down at Sofia. He’s surprised to see that she was already looking at him too with raised brows and an indiscernible expression marring her features. “I uh—” Shit. Rafe paused, inwardly muttering a chastising curse when he realized that he hadn’t fully thought of something to say on his way over here.

He was just so focused on interrupting their moment of intimacy that he didn’t think of a excuse for his interruption. Luckily, it’s Nicole who’s breaking the barrier of the awkward silence as she directed her question to Barry, “Where’s the bathroom?”

Barry looked questioningly over at Rafe before nudging his chin outwardly. “It’s through there. First door on the right,” Nicole murmurs a halfhearted thanks to him, before disappearing down the hallway.

When she’s gone, Barry shakes his head and emanates an amused chuckle. He shakes a finger at Rafe, proclaiming, “You’re my dog, so I can get a pass when I say this, but you’ve gotta get better taste in women. That dick of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days,” Barry’s attention averts at the sound of someone beckoning him from across the room. He alerts, narrowing his gaze on the person as recognition settles in.

He turns back to Sofia, “I gotta go handle somethin’ real quick. You cool standin’ here with Rafe til I come back?”

She looks at him warily, but nods at Barry. “I’ll be okay.” And Rafe doesn’t know if he should be offended at the insinuation that she wouldn’t be safe around him. It seemed as if the rumors about him and his past history of violence had caused her to be apprehensive of being alone with him.

After Barry’s left to tend to one of his customers, Rafe averts his attention back on Sofia who stood there hugging her arms around herself as she avoided his gaze. “I uh, I know that I said it before but I really am sorry about what happened,” Her eyes slowly meet his gaze; staring at him with profound intensity like she’s assessing him to determine if there’s any sincerity behind his apology.

After a moment, she shrugs, lowering her eyes as she looked away from him again. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Rafe nods, feeling grateful that he was at least absolved from that. “So, uh, how do you know Barry?” He attempted to appear causal in his inquiry, hoping that she didn’t decipher his ulterior motive behind the question.

She gives him a guarded look, “How do you know him?” She redirects, seemingly avoiding answering the question. “He doesn’t really seem like someone you’d be friends with,”

Rafe shrugged, “Maybe you don’t know me like you think you do,”

Their conversation is interrupted as two guys, stumbling in their inebriated stupor, make their way over to where they’re standing. One of the guys inadvertently loses his footing and nearly collides directly into Sofia. But she manages to evade out of his pathway, gasping softly when she collides against Rafe’s chest instead. He reacts almost instinctively, resting a hand on her waist to steady her.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Sofia nods, her eyes briefly hold his gaze as he stared down at her in concern. Her hand’s pressed against his chest, anchoring herself in place. And he hopes that she doesn’t feel how his heartbeat quickens at her touch — at how much just being in her proximity was affecting him.

At the realization of how close they were standing to each other, Sofia immediately recoils from the embrace as she takes a few steps away from him accruing to the space between them again. He doesn’t even have the opportunity to dwell over his disappointment because Nicole’s suddenly announcing her return. “This party is so lame. Why don’t we go to Topper’s at least he has a pool and coke,”

“Jesus, Nicole!” Rafe reproaches, grabbing ahold of her hand as he tugs her offside, keeping them sequestered from any eavesdropping. “If you didn’t want to be here you didn’t have to come. You’ve been complaining since we got here!”

She gives him a pointed look as she tugs her hand free from his grasp so that she’s able to perch them akimbo instead. “Excuse me for wanting to spend time with my boyfriend but you’ve done nothing but ignore me the entire night—”

Rafe careens, bewildered. “Boyfriend?” He wasn’t exactly certain how she came to this very false assumption about their relationship and the extremities of it; especially when he informed her beforehand that it would be strictly for both of their sexual gratifications and nothing more. But it seemed as if she concocted some idea about this being more than what he intended for it to be.

She furrowed a narrowed look like she’s unsure why he’s the one that confused. She nods, watching as Rafe suspired wryly, running a hand over his face. “Look, we hang out and we have sex but we aren’t dating. I told you what this was before we even started sleeping together.”

He’s trying to assuage his rejection as nicely as he can, cautious to not inadvertently say the wrong thing so that she doesn’t get offended and cause a scene but it appears as if his efforts are futile because he can see her expression altering at his words.

She scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“You’re a nice girl and you’re fun to hang out with,” When you aren’t being possessive and needy for my attention. “But—”

“Nice and fun to hang out with?!” She reiterates, chuckling in incredulous disbelief at his apparent trivialization. “We’ve been seeing each other for months! So you’re telling me that it was all meaningless sex to you is that it?” He wants to say yes, because she deserves the truth especially after this misconstrued situation but he knows that her reaction would be anything but civil if he were to do so.

So he doesn’t verbally respond, only rubs a hand over his neck as he lowered his eyes away from her unflinched gaze.

“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole.” He parts his mouth to offer a sheepish apology, but her hands are shoving at his chest as she continued her verbal onslaught towards him.

The commotion of everything caught the other partygoers attention. Their gazes thwart from their own conversations onto them, their interests piqued at the sudden entertainment. “You know what? Lose my number and don’t ever call me again!” She says, brushing past him with a nudge of her shoulder.

…

When he turns back around, Sofia’s looking at him with an amused expression lilting across her face. “Wow,” Rafe sighs, wiping off a bit of drink that inadvertently spilled onto his pants in the midst of Nicole’s collision. “Barry’s right, you do have interesting taste in women.”

He gives her a pointed look, admittedly annoyed at the fact that she keeps using Barry’s name in such a familiar context. “Wow, for a second there it almost sounds like you actually care about me and my interests,”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She avers, tucking her arms against her chest.

He sighs in defeat realizing that the brief moment that they shared earlier where she didn’t seem to despise his presence was merely fleeting and that her disdain for him had made an abrupt return. He didn’t understand her. She wouldn’t even give him the opportunity of salvaging his reputation that his sister tarnished.

He’s gotten accustomed to being the island’s social pariah — he’s heard all of the gossiping whispers and seen the judgmental stares, but none of that compared to withdrawn feeling of rejection that he carries knowing how she feels about him.

“Yo, Sof!” Barry’s voice pierces through the silence that lingered between them. He saunters over to where they’re standing, lugging his arm around Sofia’s shoulder again. “You want some?” He asks, outwardly proffering his cup of beer towards her in a questioning gesture.

Sofia shakes her head, declining his offer as she gently pushed the cup away. “I have to work tomorrow, I can’t show up babysitting a hangover.”

Barry laughs boisterously as he brings his cup up to his parted lips and takes a large swig of the drink. “I forgot how much of a lightweight you are,” He teases, much to her flushing chagrin as she rolls her eyes and playfully nudged at his shoulder.

Having grown tired of being an evidential third wheel to their playful banter, Rafe announces his leave.

“What? Nah. Bro, you just got here!” Barry accents, removing his arm from around Sofia so that he’s able to approach Rafe. “Look, there’s a whole party full of other women to help you get over…ah,” He snaps his fingers as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying (and failing) to remember Nicole’s name.

“Nicole,”

“Nicole!” Barry exclaims, nodding his head as he clasped a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Go mingle and find someone else to help you forget about that stuck up bitch.”

He couldn’t tell him that the one person that he wanted to give his time and attention to, couldn’t care less about him. Rafe was jealous of Barry’s fortunate luck of being with someone like Sofia but he also felt guilt ridden for having these traitorous feelings. Barry was a good friend who’s seen and helped him get through some of the most darkest times in his life. What kind of friend was he to repay that kind of support by crushing on his girlfriend in return?

Barry was right about one thing though; he did need to forget about Nicole (and Sofia) and what better way to do that than self indulge in liquor and women to help distract him from his troubling thoughts?

…

When Barry invited her to his party, the last person she expected to see in attendance was kook king Rafe Cameron. Another thing she was completely unaware of? The fact that he and Barry were friends. Sofia’s brain couldn’t comprehend the reality of it even as she watched them interact. Barry despised kooks and everything they stood for and Rafe was the island’s biggest kook — with a father like Ward Cameron and them living in one of the biggest houses on the island to prove it.

It’s about twelve thirty when she decides to call it in for the night. She looks around the room, searching for Barry so she could bid her farewells before she left but he’d disappeared with a group of friends fifteen minutes ago and hadn’t returned since. She didn’t have time to go around to search for him, so she decided to send him a goodbye text instead.

As she’s walking from the front porch to the driveway, she could see Rafe slouched out in one of the chairs on the lawn. His eyes are glossy and as she approached closer to him, she could smell the strong stench of beer wafting off of him.

“Are you okay?” He looked visibly drunk — his head’s lolling to the side, barely able to remain upright and his expression’s languid.

He blinks, guffawing softly at her apropos. “I’m fine. But it’s not like you actually care anyway, right?” He rebuttals, a bit defensive in his response.

Sofia tucks her phone into her back pocket as she sighs, ignoring his abrasive tone. “Are you waiting on someone to pick you up? Or do you need a ride?” Her eyes lowered to his feet where she could see his car keys in the grass next to an empty red solo cup. “I can take you,” She offered, immediately intervening just in case he was thinking about driving himself home.

Rafe shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand at her. “I told you that I’m fine.”

She reaches forward and snatches his keys, tucking them inside her front pocket. “You’re drunk.” She says, perching her hands akimbo as she stared down at him.

“I’m not an idiot, Sofia,” He beseeches, fixing his blurry gaze on her. “Contrary to what you think about me I’m not stupid enough to drink and drive.”

While it relieves her to hear him reassure her of this, it still doesn’t dissuade the discomfort of leaving him alone in this drunken state. “Okay, good. But I’m still keeping your keys so since you don’t have a way home, I’ll take you.”

“I don’t need—I can walk by myself, you know.” He mutters, though contradicting himself a moment later when he inadvertently stumbles when he stands to his feet and has to rest a hand on her forearm to anchor himself.

Sofia wraps an arm around his waist, holding onto him securely as she schlepped him towards her car. The height difference between the two of them along his loss of cognition has Rafe leaning most of his body weight on her, to where she’s pressed up against his chest. He barred his arm around her shoulder, sluggish in his gait as she lead them forward.

Opening the passenger’s door, Rafe slides his arm off of her and murmurs a soft thanks as he brushes past her to climb inside. Her car is much smaller than he is so he has to maneuver around a bit to get comfortable, but despite his efforts his knees still end up being pressed against the dashboard.

“Here, put your address in.” She says, extending her phone outwardly towards him once she’s perched in the driver’s seat.

She turns the keys over as the ignition spurs on. She secures her seatbelt in place, setting the car in reverse as she pulls out of the driveway and descends down the street.

“Do you need water or anything?” She offers, peering over at him as he leaned his head against her window while his hand rubbed at his throbbing temples.

“Careful there Sofia, you’re starting to sound like you actually care about my well-being,” He remarks sarcastically, shifting his position in the seat with a soft grunt as he spreads his legs wider for room.

“You’re in my car. I don’t want you to throw up or pass out or anything,”

Rafe rolls his eyes, scoffing. “I’m fine. I know how to handle my liquor,” He murmurs, fluttering his eyes close as he mindlessly tapped his fingers against his thigh.

Sofia ends the conversation there, leaning forward to turn on the radio to drown out the car’s silence. She thinks he’s fallen asleep and that she’d have a peaceful drive for the rest of the way, but it’s not even five minutes later that he’s blinking his eyes open and turning his head to look at her.

“What?” She questions, suddenly feeling her face flush at the way he’s watching her. She averts her attention away from the road and peers over at him with a raised brow.

“Why do you hate me? I know you’re friends with my sister and she’s said some shit about me but that’s how she feels and it’s understandable. But why do you hate me?”

Sofia looks back at the road, biting on her lip as she tightened her grip around the wheel. She didn’t feel like this was the most appropriate time to talk about this especially while he was drunk, but if he wanted a truthful answer then she wouldn’t hesitate to give him one.

“I don’t hate you, Rafe. I don’t trust you. I might not know you like the rest of them do, but I know my friends and I know that the way they and other people on the island talk about you isn’t for no reason.”

His jaw clenched as he looks away, staring vacantly out of the window. “If you don’t trust me then you shouldn’t have given me a ride home. I don’t want to ruin your reputation by having you be seen with me,” He laments through offense that’s underlined with sarcasm.

“I told you, I couldn’t leave you sitting there.”

Rafe shakes his head at her rebuttal, falling silent for the remainder of the car ride as he kept his attention thwarted on the windows and scenery that they passed by.

When the gps announces their arrival and they pull into the driveway of his mansion, Rafe unlatches his seatbelt and mutters another halfhearted thanks before he’s making his haste exit. She unclicks her seatbelt, just to accompany him to the house to make sure he doesn’t accidentally keel over but he rejects her offer, assuring her that he’d make it inside unscathed. “Are you sure? Because you could barely walk by yourself the first time.”

“I’m good.” He asserts, giving her an indescribable look as he closes the door before walking off. Even with his reassurance, she remains sitting there waiting until he’s entered inside of the house before finally driving off.

…

“Dude, it is a Christmas movie!”

“No, it’s a movie set around Christmas time,” Pope rebuttals.

They all lounged around listening to Pope and John B’s debate on the validity of Die Hard’s categorization for the past ten minutes with Pope regarding the technicalities of why it wasn’t and John B arguing against it. Sofia was listening halfheartedly, laughing every so often at JJ’s interfering commentary though she mostly kept her attention on the strokes of her pencil as she drew in her sketchbook.

“There’s a distinct difference between the two. Christmas isn’t central to the movie’s plot; the heist is.” Pope accents, earning collective groans from both John B and JJ. “If it were more focused on that then maybe—”

“Well, if you’re using that argument that’s like saying Home Alone isn’t a Christmas movie either then,” Sarah ripostes, leaning against John B’s chest as he instinctively wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“What? No, that’s two different—” Pope’s rebuff falls halfheartedly off of his lips, forgotten in the void. At his abrupt silence, Sofia looks up from her sketchbook to see what was the cause of everyone’s sudden alert attention. Looking around, she gauges her friends’ reaction, seeing all of them wearing the same narrowed and defensive expressions.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She hears JJ inquire as he clambered to his feet, maneuvering his way out of Kiara’s embrace.

Turning around in her chair, Sofia’s surprised to see that it’s Rafe standing there. He looks undaunted by JJ’s combative tone and disregards the wayward looks that the rest of the pogues give him. Instead, his eyes focus on Sofia as he looks down at her.

“I need my car keys,”

JJ’s face furrows in a confused expression. “What the fuck are you talking about, Cameron?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, “Nothing that you need to worry about. I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Sofia,”

JJ scoffs, moving from where he stood so that he was now standing in front of Sofia, blocking her from Rafe’s view. “Last time I remember you two talking, one of your friends threw a drink on her. So, nah, there isn’t about to be anymore talking going on between the two of you again.”

Sofia closed her sketchbook and stood to her feet, resting a hand on JJ’s arm. “It’s fine, JJ.” She attempts to placate, wanting to intervene before the situation had the opportunity to turn hostile. But both Rafe and JJ’s combative personalities made it challenging to assuage.

Rafe chuckles wryly, “You actually think that I’d hurt her?”

“Oh, please!” JJ scoffs, “Don’t act like you haven’t done anythin’ like it before you fuckin’ psycho!”

“J,” Kiara laments, reaching a hand out for his as she gave Rafe a wary look. “Look, just get what you need to get from her and leave all of us alone. Don’t come by here again.” She avers, gently tugging at JJ’s hand so that he’s seated next to her again instead of posted defensively in front of Sofia.

Sofia looks over at Rafe, gesturing a hand towards her car. “They’re in my purse,”

His jaw clenches as he nods, his footsteps recede as he follows Sofia from the house’s porch out to the front yard where her car was parked. She tugs the driver’s door open and grabs her purse, scouring around inside until she finds his keys that she’d kept tucked in there.

She extends the keys towards Rafe, biting on her bottom lip as she lowered her eyes. She doesn’t know why, but she suddenly felt sorry for the way her friends bombarded him like that. It was confusing; because she knows her friends were only protecting her from him (which greatly she appreciated) but there was still a part of her couldn’t help but feel guilt ridden at their verbal attack on him.

“Thanks again,” He turns away, beginning to walk back over towards the truck where she could see Topper in the driver’s seat drumming his fingers in a staccato against the wheel as he waited for him.

“Hey, Rafe?” Rafe pauses mid-gait at the sound of her beckon. He turns around, looking at her with a raised a brow. Sofia falters, swallowing down the concern and apology she was about to extend to him for JJ’s behavior. She shakes her head, waving a dismissive hand. “Nothing,” She laments, watching as the furrow deepened in his expression. She feels herself flushing underneath his unflinched scrutiny and has to hurriedly turn away from him and walk away to avoid his smothering gaze.

“What was that all about?” Sarah asks once Sofia returns to her seated position on the chair.

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “He just got really drunk the other day at a party so I gave him a ride home. But I forgot to give him his keys back.”

“Shit. He didn’t try or say anything did he?” Kiara questions, her face reflects that same worn look of concern that Sarah has upon learning that Sofia had been alone with Rafe. She shakes her reassuringly, easing their worries.

Their playful bickering resumes once they’ve all calmed down after Rafe’s departure. Sofia picks up her sketching pencil, attempting to continue her drawing.

But she found her mind wandering waywardly about something else —

about someone else.

Shit.

[acehazbin1]

Okay hear me out on this for the one and Only Emperor Caracalla. If you like this one- I might get confident enough to send another request for Emperor Geta lol. I didn’t see a rules- sorry -so if this goes against any just ignore this message lol.

Okay so I’m thinking you could do a fic or two of Caracalla with a motherly reader. Whether they’re a maid, concubine, etc. They just adore him “my sweet boy” and such. Sorry if this sucked LOLOL

“Motherly love.”

I loved this request! Sadly I didn’t see it straight away, but it’s a great idea!!

Notes: sorry if this is horrible I was in a rush! Also about the other series I’m working on the 3rd chap just been a busy January!

Mother!Reader & Caracalla (not romantic)

Cybele= Roman god of motherhood

……..

Emperor Caracalla was only nineteen when he took the throne alongside his twin brother, they were both immature and unfit to govern the Roman Empire. Yet somehow two years in Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta remained on the throne, sure Rome was starving and the wars were never over but he still held the power in his hands.

People thought he was ruthless, a real human being could never see the suffering on the streets and continue to throw banquets and parties. He must be a monster with a stone-cold heart… yet in the palace, many workers knew the truth. One in particular knew nearly everything about him if anything minorly or majorly impacted his life she would be the first to know.

“Cybele, Cybele!” Caracalla called out into the open space that was the fountain. She was washing sheets in the fountain, it was her duty as an assistant nurse to wash the bedsheets of the care beds. “Emperor, I wished you reframe from calling me that. It is disrespectful to Cybele.”

Caracalla's eyes found her and he started to make his way over towards the fountain. “Ah, but you are the goddess herself to me.” Caracalla flashes his golden tooth with a grin. “I am not yet a mother.”

“By blood no, but by your actions, they say otherwise.” Caracalla twisted his head a bit, she nodded her head while reaching into the water and twisting the sheets around. “Why did you come down to the servant's area? Did you have something to say?”

“Oh yes.” Caracalla eyes light up, “I thought Dungdus a new trick!” Caracalla whistled for the monkey and she came flying down the stairs. Caracalla patted his shoulder and the monkey climbed up, he then stuck out his arm and Dundgus climbed out. The brown monkey hung upside down on his arm for a few seconds, before jumping off.

“Oh, that was delightful.” She made sure to clap and smile, and he highlighted her comments. “You think so?” He stepped closer, “yes of course.”

Caracalla grinned from ear to ear, he sat down on the side of the fountain letting Dungdus run around the servants’ area. “I can teach her more tricks if you like?” Caracalla mused, which made her shake her head. “Only teach her trick if you want to, you don’t need to impress me.”

Caracalla's eyes went away from her face and he fidgeted with his shelve. “I- I don’t want to impress you…” He didn’t want to admit it, she felt her heartstrings tug. She dropped the bedsheets she was holding and cupped his cheek with her palm. “Oh my sweet boy it’s okay.”

Her voice was like honey, it smoothed him while sick in the head. Many times her voice was one of comfort when he had to visit the nurse, she sat by his side whispering things of comfort to help him through his mental anguish.

He nuzzled into her palm, as he whispered, “Geta tired to embarrass me infront of the senate today.” He would normally complain about Geta, his mind would twist the things that Geta did to protect him into horrible acts of envy. “What did he say?” She asked.

“He said that he should be the one to look over the spending of the army, but we both agreed that would be my job.” Caracalla said with his voice laced in spite. “Your bother can-“ “and when a senator implied that I was useless he didn’t even stand up for me!” Caracalla cut her off with more angrily whispering.

She wave him a dry look, “Caracalla.”

“It’s so unfair-“ “Caracalla.” “he always does this!” “Caracalla.” “I know he’s going to-“ “CARACALLA.”

She raised her voice which made him wide eyed and tensed his shoulders. He was so caught off guard by her yelling, he was used to Geta or the crowd at a game yelling but a servant wasn’t supposed to yell at him. Specially not you.

“I’m sorry you interrupted me, we talked about this before.” The maid said and rubbed his cheek trying to ease him out of his shock. She didn’t mean to yell at him, just hated when he never listened to reason.

“You- you yelled at me…” Caracalla choked, his eyes watered a bit as the shock wore off. “Shsh, I’m sorry.” He pulled away from her hand, as she tried to move it closer. It wasn’t like him to move away from touch, “Caracalla please.”

Caracalla feet tapped the group, his eyes switched back from the fountain to the palace. His head was spinning, he tried to push himself off the little wall he was sitting on to keep the water in before her hand held his wrist. “Caracalla listen to me.”

“I did not mean to yell, you did not mean to interrupt me. It was a miss understanding.” She breathed out but he looked away from her eyes trying to figure out if he should believe her words. “I- I…”

She got up quickly allowing the basket to dump into the fountain. She would deal with that later, she pulled him so he was turn around. He looked a bit terrified by the fact he was dragged back to her but she wrapped her arms around him.

It took him a second, his eyes still wide and wet, his hair messed up and his palms were shaky but he melted into her grip. He nearly let his hold body fall, it was slightly scary for her to hold up his body weight but she was just glad that he forgave her.

“My sweet boy.” She held him tight, “I’m so sorry,”

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers: Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

← PART ONE | PART THREE →

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

You were led down a long hallway with beige water-damaged walls. The tiles were freezing beneath your feet, each step bringing your toes closer and closer to becoming icicles. You shivered, pulling the sweatshirt closer around your neck to try and block out the cold.

There were two people leading you—one a man with close-cropped carrot hair and the other a woman with dark skin and hazelnut irises. They sort of looked like the eyes of the nice man from before, the one who’d collected you from the bus. You didn’t know where he’d gone. Soon after he’d led you inside he’d been summoned away for some sort of other task that needed attending to.

You clenched your hands to stop them from shaking. You’d heard of this place, of course. Everyone had. Silver Lake Asylum was supposed to be a home for the insane, the wild, those that weren’t human enough to function on their own. Those who had been kissed by the devil instead of blessed by God.

You didn’t think you were insane, but…well, crazy people never thought they were crazy, right? You’d been told you were. Aunt Bea had said so, and after that night….

The orange-haired man opened a metal door to your right and you winced at the high-pitched squeal the hinges let out.

You froze.

“Let’s go,” the man said, prodding you forward.

You nearly stumbled, shaking your head. “No, no I can’t, I—”

He pushed you forward again, this time into the room. Showers lined the walls with water-stained silver handholds; rust clung to some of the drains embedded in the ceramic tile floors.

Your vision started to blur with tears as you shook your head more violently. “Please don’t—I—”

Memories assaulted you, ones of you huddled and shivering beneath a frozen stream of water with purple lips, the smell of mold on porcelain making you gag…

You were suddenly shaken. Shocked out of your daze, you looked up to find the woman gripping your shoulders, her brow creased. When your gaze met hers her face relaxed.

“She’s fine,” she said to the man without looking at you. His nose was wrinkled as if disgusted by your tears.

“Let’s just…get her a bucket and washcloth or something instead,” he muttered. He seemed almost uncomfortable by your display. His boots were swift as he exited the room.

Twenty minutes later you were as clean as you could be without a proper shower, dressed in white scrubs with a brown-orange stain on the hem of one of the sleeves. Your toes were no longer frozen—you’d been given white socks with sticky texturing on the bottom to keep you from slipping.

Your room was bland. White walls, white floor, white sheets. There was a single chair in the corner of the room facing the bed, also white. There was no window and there were bars covering the light fixture—most likely to prevent any patients from breaking the glass bulb and using the jagged shards as a weapon, either against others or themselves.

Despite being warmer than before, you hadn’t stopped shivering. Was this supposed to be your new life? Never feeling the sunlight on your skin again? Never seeing the sky? Tremors wracked your body and you felt another wave of panic, followed by a smaller flare of self-disgust. You were pathetic. How many times had you broken down today? How many times had tears clouded your vision, had fear fuzzed your mind? How many times—

There was a quiet beep and your door opened. An unfamiliar man walked through (but then again, wasn’t everyone unfamiliar these days?).

He had strawberry blond hair that receded from a round, wrinkled forehead—wrinkles far too deep for someone middle-aged. His chin was pointed, his nose even more so.

The skin crinkled around his blue eyes as he gave you a friendly smile. “Well hello there,” he said, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicked.

You didn’t respond and your eyes followed him as he sat down in the white chair across from you. He was dressed in a simple button down and slacks.

He studied you for a moment before extending a hand. “I’m Bishop David, the head of this institution.”

You didn’t shake his hand.

Bishop David nodded as he pulled it back and gave an understanding smile. “I hope you’ve settled in alright, though I heard you gave Joseph and Maria some trouble at the showers.”

At this, you squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t like water,” you whispered.

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all have things that irk us, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond.

“Quiet, aren’t you?” He cocked his head and his eyes took on a strange look, as if he were trying to look through you. He clasped his hands. “You were brought here for a very serious reason, you know. Your aunt—she was a good woman.”

You looked down.

“And a good woman’s judgment should be trusted, shouldn’t it?” He leaned forward a bit.

He spoke your name.

You looked up.

“You’re unclean,” he said softly. “You’ve been touched by the devil, been shunned by God. Your aunt was wise to hand you over. You shouldn’t be ungrateful for your circumstances.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“We’re going to help you,” he said intently. “But to do that, you need to admit to yourself first that you are tainted. Your soul is evil. You must understand that.”

You didn’t say anything. Tears welled on your lashes.

Bishop David let out a small exhale and stood. “I expected denial, but none as strong as this. The devil is working hard on you.” He gave you a small smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to help.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Days passed. The asylum staff didn’t give you a calendar, nor did you ask for one. What was the point? You weren’t getting out of here anytime soon. You didn’t deserve to.

The routine was the same each day. In the morning you’d wake to a plate of cheese and bread set on your bedside table for breakfast. Lunch was beef jerky and crackers, and dinner was soup. At night the lights would shut off, leaving you in pitch blackness.

Nights were always the hardest. You couldn’t sleep, not when you could practically feel the darkness pressing in on you from all sides, like it was strangling you. You’d wrap yourself in your blanket and curl into a ball to try and hide, but how could you escape something that was everywhere all at once?

You could practically feel yourself wasting away; not just your body, but your mind as well. You had no one to talk to, nothing to do. The only time you saw the outside of your cell was when you were led to the restroom by an armed guard.

Today you were sat criss-cross on your thin mattress, picking at the crust of your bread, getting ready for another day of staring at the wall with empty eyes when you heard a small beep.

Your door opened a moment later and in stepped him.

He didn’t look any different than he did on the day he’d collected you from the bus. Square face, tired eyes, Roman nose. His beard was flecked with gray, same as his brown hair along the temples. He was dressed the same as he was before—black button down, black slacks, black shoes. The only thing that wasn’t dark was the white of his clerical collar.

“Mornin’,” he said in his deep, rumbling bass of a voice.

“Good morning,” you said softly. You watched as his dark silhouette moved to take a seat in the white chair, a spill of ink against paper.

He was holding a thick leather bound book in his hand. “You, uh, get settled in alright?”

You shrugged.

“Bishop David told me he came to see you. Said you were…on the quieter side.”

“I didn’t have anything to say to him.”

The man’s thick brow furrowed and he seemed to study you for a moment before he shook his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind. “Well, I’m Father Miller. I’m going to be helping you in your reformation.”

You gave him your name as well, but it was more for the sake of formality. Did this man really think he could help you? You were bad—you were unclean.

“What’s that?” You asked, nodding to the book in his hands.

“Oh, this? S’the Bible.”

Of course. You shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Are you going to read to me?”

Father Miller nodded. “Is—“

“Why?”

He cocked his head. “What d’you mean, ‘why?’ Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…” You fidgeted. “Do you really think it will help me?” What good would hearing such holy words do if you were already damned?

“Bishop David says it will, and I…I trust him.”

Your eyes flicked down as Father Miller’s large hands opened the book.

“S’this alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly so soft and honey sweet it made you want to hear it again. You nodded.

Father Miller’s eyes fell to the book in his hands.

And he began to read.